


Operation: Mistletoe

by dimpleforyourthoughts



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Accidentally High, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angsty Schmoop, BAMF Jared Padalecki, BAMF Jensen, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Christmas Crack, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Drugs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt Jared Padalecki, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Mistletoe, Pining, Possessive Jensen, Protective Chad, References to Drugs, SPN J2 Secret Santa, Slow Burn, Suburbia, Tropes, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimpleforyourthoughts/pseuds/dimpleforyourthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI Agent Jensen Ackles is a damn good agent, but his devil-may-care attitude, gut instinct, and sheer dumb luck have finally run out. With his job and reputation on the line, Jensen is assigned to a new partner: the overzealous and overachieving Agent Jared Padalecki.</p><p>Their mission: Infiltrate a ring of drug dealers hiding out in Suburbia in the midst of the Holiday season.</p><p>The only catch? They have to pretend to be head-over-heels in love with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [locknkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/locknkey/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Операция "Омела"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167626) by [Slavyanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slavyanka/pseuds/Slavyanka)



> This story was written for the lovely locknkey, under the given prompt: fake boyfriends. I basically tried to stuff as many of your likes into one fic as I could, with an extra layer of Holiday cheer. I apologize for the lateness, and I hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays dear!
> 
> Graphics/art credit to kuzzjoma, created for the Russian Translation linked above
> 
> Special thanks to [Paula ](http://www.inkorstardust.tumblr.com) for being such a wonderful Beta, and to all my friends on twitter for their cheerleading. 
> 
> As always, I'm Amy, come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.dimpleforyourthoughts.tumblr.com)

\--

 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.”

Director Samantha Ferris—not a single hair out of place, as always—barely looks up from the report she’s filing, as if she hadn’t just dropped the most unceremonious piece of bullshit news that Jensen’s ever heard in his goddamn life.

“On the contrary, Agent, no, I am not fucking kidding you.”

“You can't be serious,” Jensen blurts again, because he’s barely just had his morning coffee and he might actually be a little slow on the uptake this early.

“As a heart attack,” Ferris says with a serene smile. “Deadly so. You've had your six months leave, your mandated therapy, you've even had your multiple second chances, but time and again you've disappointed me and time and again I've made excuses-”

“I've never _not_ solved a case!” Jensen protests.

Ferris casts him a look that could freeze boiling water and Jensen quiets. It’s true, but it’s not something he should be proud of.

“That may be true Ackles, and it may also be true that you're one of our best agents. But you're also a mess.”

“Name one time--”

“It’s not the work, Jensen, it’s you. Your lack of adherence to protocol and rules makes you extremely difficult to work with, arrogant, much too confident, and frankly, a huge pain in my ass on days that end in Y. The only reason we can’t fire you is _because_ you’ve never not solved a case. Ever.”

“Damn right I haven’t.” Jensen knows without needing to check that he has one of the best track records of any agent currently in the field. To fire him would be idiocy in its plainest form, and he’d never known Ferris to display a single ounce of that.

“But even now, you’re on thin ice. You’re a loose cannon, Ackles, and frankly one that I’ve half a mind to snuff out if this continues. You’re a brilliant agent, but you are so wrapped up in doing things your-way-or-the-highway that most operations you run are complete wild cards. You’ve got great instincts, Jensen but eventually those aren’t going to get you through a tight spot. Structure is. Your guts, while helpful, aren’t enough.”

“Okay, so put me back into boot camp, have me do some retraining in Quantico, send me back to therapy, hell, send me to boy scout camp for team building games. Just don’t put me back in the field with a _partner_ for fuck’s sake.”

“Your superiors and I had a long talk. It’s the only way we’re going to let you back on after last time.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And neither does your partner.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well after your performance thirteen months ago, I’d say this is a pretty fair trade for swapping in your badge, wouldn’t you?”

She doesn’t explicitly say what she’s referencing, but she doesn’t have to. Jensen quickly glances around the room for something to distract him, but it remains, as always, pristine. There’s nothing to stare at but the file she’d handed him minutes before, a brief sheet of statistics and facts about his new ‘partner’ accompanied by a mug-shot like Polaroid.

He doesn’t take more than a second to glance at it. The guy looks rather commonplace, like there’s still baby fat lingering about his cheeks, an overeager glint in his eyes that the camera managed to pick up. Jensen rolls his eyes.

If you’re gonna assign me a partner, at least give me one that isn’t completely green.” Jensen flicks at the Polaroid. “He’s an infant.”

“Padalecki was top of his class at Quantico, speaks five languages, and has a degree in engineering. He's newer to the field than you and a bit over eager, that's true, but he's quick on his feet, and a fantastic actor undercover. You'd do well to learn from that.”

Jensen resists the urge to roll his eyes. As if some newbie straight out of the classroom could teach him anything about being undercover. Bullshit.

“He’s too inexperienced.”

“Weren’t we all when we first got started?”

“He’s not going to maintain the cover well enough to pass.”

“Good thing you’ll be there for moral support, yeah?”

He snarls and she takes back the quip with a slight chuckle and half-apologetic shrug that only lasts a second, before standing, balancing on the steeples of her fingertips against the desk.

“Look, Jensen, you are one of our best agents. But you've been a wreck this past year. You need someone who's going to stabilize you when you trip up. There's no flaw in needing backup, or needing a partner.”

He stares at the cool, unflinching woman, who—though she will never admit it—knows enough secrets that could easily destroy western civilization with a few well placed phone calls if she so chose. Jensen may be right about not needing a partner, but there’s no arguing with Director Samantha Ferris of the New York FBI when she gives him that look.

“Fine,” he snaps, turning tail and storming out.

“Your flight leaves at o-five-hundred tomorrow. Debriefing with Director Jeff Morgan at the Los Angeles Headquarters at eighteen hundred. Don't be late!” Samantha’s words catch him just before he gets to slam the door and have the final say.

 

\--

 

There is only one basic thing you need to know about Agent Jensen Ackles, and it’s that he doesn’t play well with others.

In his own memory lie vague glimpses of himself from when he was a young boy; on the jungle gym, at summer camp, in high school PE class, and all of those memories center around the fact that he doesn’t much get along with other people. He didn’t like sharing toys, or crayons, or snacks. On the playground he was bossy, and in trouble for jumping off the monkey bars or climbing the drain pipes of the school building more often than not. Jensen was by no means a bully, but people didn’t like him just the same, because he was too rambunctious and too mouthy for his own good.

Funny, how the kindergarten version of himself wasn’t far off from the current version.

That may have more to do with the fact that from a young age Jensen had always been to smart and too lonely in a way that could only end badly. His Dad was a New York cop that wasn’t home enough and his Mom was a bitter drunk that was home too much, but that story sounded pitifully sad coming out of his mouth, even when slathered with his brand of sarcasm. So he usually kept it to himself, and chalked his inability to get along with others up to a life of growing up on Staten Island with too much time on his hands and a strong inclination to mistrust anyone he met.

And for the most part, people believed that. It was Staten Island, after all.

Jensen traipses around his shitty New York apartment with a lukewarm beer from the broken fridge in one hand and the file on his partner in the other. On the nights before cases, he usually fucks off to one bar or another, finds a seedy hole in the wall and maybe company if that happens to come with it. He fucks out his jitters and sheds what feels like any resemblance to human loneliness he’s gained in his downtime and then wakes the next morning ready to jump into the field.

He can’t afford that small comfort tonight. He’s never had a partner before, and he’s not about to just act like that’s not going to significantly fuck up his mojo. Jensen _hates_ having a partner, has never had a successful one, let alone one that stuck, conducting solo undercover missions involving all sorts of seduction, treachery, and scaling buildings at dangerous heights, all without the help of someone having his six. It’s unnecessary, that kind of distraction, but he _knows_ that Ferris did it to test him. If Jensen can’t handle this partner, he knows he’s done for, as if he hasn’t already been on thin ice the last few months.

The beer tastes gross, and even in the frigid air of mid-November it’s not cool enough to be remotely enjoyable but he drinks it anyhow, thumbing through the file and settling in for the long haul.

He’s halfway through the six pack by the time he’s memorized the file, and he’s finished by the time he drifts off to sleep.

He oversleeps his alarm and barely makes it to his flight on time, bleary-eyed and hardly packed, nothing in his dufflebag but clean underwear, a tube of toothpaste, his piece, and the file, which he goes over several more times on the flight over. Despite it being November, the air is tepid at best, skies bright and sunny as Jensen exits the airport, groping for the aviators he hopes he shoved somewhere in his duffle bag.

Time for Agent Jared Padalecki to meet his maker.

 

\--

 

Agent Jensen Ackles--age thirty, height six foot one, weight one ninety five--is extremely late to the debriefing.

The trait of tardiness wasn’t mentioned in the file, that’s for sure, but the way Special Agent Cortese stands ramrod straight behind Director Morgan, hands tightly clasped and white knuckling the case file in her hand, it’s not something that happens often.

Or if it does, the Bureau is choosing to overlook it entirely.

Jared had, true to his nature, showed up a whopping hour and a half before the meeting, had already exhausted his pocket’s change at the vending machine down the hall, gone to the bathroom six times, and eaten more than enough donuts from the debrief snack table than it was considered to be socially acceptable.

He was nervous, sue him! Eating four donuts is totally acceptable when you’re nervous.

The clock reads fifteen past, and Jared’s just about ready to excuse himself to the bathroom for the seventh time when the conference room doors slam open and in breezes the man, the myth, the legend himself.

Agent Ackles, in the flesh.

The first thing Jared notices, is how surprisingly not-short Jensen looks next to him. Jared’s used to towering over most men, but there’s something about the swagger in Jensen’s step, the casual flippancy of the smile he tosses in Agent Cortese and Director Morgan’s direction as he says, “Sorry, LA traffic’s a bitch, you know?” that makes him seem bigger than their three inch height difference.

Jared watches as Jensen walks in and says, ”Hey, Kid,” in a way that shouldn’t sound so condescending, before flinging himself into one of the spinning chairs and snatching up a donut all in the span of a few seconds.

Jared had done his homework; barely gotten a wink of sleep as he’d spent hours poring over Jensen’s case file, dragging it with him from the treadmill at the gym to bed for his night reading. He knew every little factoid and past case tidbit there was to be had on the FBI’s maverick Jensen Ackles. In the end it hadn’t mattered, because no matter how hard he prepared for everything, there’s nothing in that goddamn file or in Jared’s vast repertory of knowledge that could possibly prepare him for what greets him right in this moment.

The FBI’s best and brightest, Ackles may be. Also very possibly the FBI’s hottest. That factoid wasn’t in the file either, apart from the gritty mug shot, which was a sham of a representation compared to the real thing.

Suffice to say, Jared Padalecki’s a little bit starstruck, and maybe a little bit turned on too.

The feeling doesn’t last long, though.

“You’re a bit late, Agent Ackles.” Jeff says pointedly, flicking his eyes deliberately at the clock.

“Apologies, Sir. Ma’am.” Ackles nods at Cortese.

Jeff hums. “Don’t make a habit of it. In any case, Agent Ackles, I’d like you to meet our finest FBI Agent out here in Southern California, and your partner for this operation, Agent Jared Padalecki.”

“Well hi there!” Jared rises and offers his hand in greeting, along with what he hopes is his best and friendliest looking smile. Jensen shakes his hand, but doesn’t smile back.

“Pleased to meet you.” Jared says, holding back the kiss-ass ‘It’s an honor to meet you’ because that’s just overdoing it.

Ackles doesn’t respond, just sizes him up, and Jared is suddenly very aware of the sweat that’s very obviously soaking his shirt, the way his hair is pointedly refusing to lie straight today. But after a brief second’s embarrassment, Jensen turns away and sits down on the opposite end of the conference table, cracking his knuckles and leaning back in his chair as Jared takes out his own notepad.

Jeff seems to take the stillness as the go ahead, and says, “Well gentlemen, I’m not sure what you’ve been told thus far about this case, but I’ll cut to the chase: we’re about to hit a major breakthrough on a group of drug dealers and smugglers we’ve been cracking down on years. We almost had them a year ago out in New Jersey, but they managed to get away before we intercepted them at the drop point. One of our guys fucked up, and the bad guys got away, the usual.”

Jared goes to make a note in his notepad, but his line of sight narrows onto Jensen as he shifts in his seat and casts a dark look in Jeff’s direction for no decipherable reason. Jeff’s face is unreadable, and Jared jots down a reminder to look into that case later.

“We call these guys, for lack of a better name, the Green Gang. They deal in all sorts of drugs that come in ‘herbal’ supplements, mostly marijuana, but in recent years it’s become bastardized versions of the substance. They’re experimenting, branching out. And naturally, their guinea pigs are the people who are pretty much willing to do anything to have a good time for a cheap price.”

“Nameless burnouts and junkies on the street?” Jensen asks.

“High schoolers.” Gen pipes up, the eagerness nearly brimming in her tone.

“They’ve begun dealing these ‘green’ drugs to high schoolers, who are too stupid to know tampered drugs when they see them,” Jeff continues, rising from the conference table. “They’re mostly just extreme highs, combining uppers with downers, the like, but there’s been a couple overdoses, and freak accidents with kids under the influence, so that’s where we get involved. Special Agent Cortese, take it away.”

Genevieve steps up to the front of the room while Jeff steps off to the side. Jared is positive she’s been spent several sleepless nights prepping for this debrief on her own. He knows her too well to expect anything else.

“Good afternoon Agent Ackles, I’m Genevieve Cortese, and I’ll be running this operation from behind the desk. Now, you two will be going undercover to track down not only the dealers, but the guys making the drugs.”

“This sounds a lot like the plot of 21 Jump Street,” Jensen says, deadpan.

“As much as I’d love to see you suffer through 8th period gym class, Ackles, I’ve got a better set up. Lucky for you, we’ve traced the drug further than the high school, so your undercover will a bit more mature than a flashback to the glory days. Teacher’s aide who was dealing the drugs to the students used a burner phone. Our investigation into the high school has allowed us to locate a burner phone that he was using to contact the suppliers. We had it wire tapped and managed to trace the most recent call—before the guy realized what was happening and destroyed the phone—to a single block radius out in Irvine.”

“Irvine?” Jared guffaws. “Isn’t that supposed to be like, one of the safest cities with the lowest crime rates?”

“The literal suburbia of suburbia, yes.” Gen nods, handing them both files that read ‘OPERATION: MISTLETOE’ which Jared thinks is an odd name for an Undercover FBI operation, but he’s heard weirder in his time as an agent. “We’ve had the block staked out for weeks, but as far as we know, the people living in these homes are just your average run-of-the-mill rich white people enjoying a nice life of boring wine nights and sex with the lights out. This is where you come in.”

“Lemme guess,” Jensen says, smirking. “We go undercover as plumbers and electricians as stuff continues to mysteriously break? Missionaries from the local Mormon church? Real Estate Buffs looking to buy up land?”

“Gay lovers, actually,” Genevieve replies coolly, and Jared chokes like he just tried to shove a fifth donut down his throat. “The two of you will be going in undercover as boyfriends—a domestic partnership, just about to become engaged and—“

Jared’s vision goes a bit white, and the room distorts just a bit. He’s going to pass out, his first long term undercover mission, the first mission that truly matters, and he’s actually going to pass out.

“ _What_.”

Jensen’s out of his chair like a shot, and it’s the sound of the chair scraping that makes Jared come to his senses.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Gen blinks and tuts at both of them. “We’ve only got so much time to fill you in on your back stories so shall we--”

“Couldn’t we be brothers?” Jensen pleads, sounding uncharacteristically whiny. “I feel like brothers sharing a house together would be way more believable—“

Gen cuts him off, “Even if you did try and sell it as brothers, they’d probably just up and assume the two of you were still involved. After all, if they’re rich enough to afford to TiVo Game of Thrones, anything’s possible—“

“I want to talk to my boss back in New York,” Jensen blurts angrily. “Call Sam Ferris right now because this,” he gestures at the space between him and Jared, “Was _not_ part of the deal.”

Jeff Morgan stands from where he’d be quietly leaning in the back of the room, the timbre of his voice making him sound menacing without effort, despite the fact that he speaks in a perfectly genial tone. “I wasn’t aware you were privileged enough to have a choice in this matter, Ackles. I was under the impression that this was an assignment and therefore your job. Silly of me to assume.”

Morgan’s conversational tone cuts Jensen short, but the tension fizzles in the air enough that Jared figures it’s time to step up, actually speak before Jensen assumes he’s mute or just an idiot. Jared’s good at getting people to go along with things, warming them up to ideas. He talked down his own bullies in grade school, he can totally do this.

“Look, man, I know you think it’s going to make us stick out like sore thumbs but-” Jensen makes a disgruntled grunt and Jared holds his hands out in a placating ‘easy does it’ gesture that he’d learned back when taking Sadie to Defensive Doggie training course, “This _is_ California after all. If we can’t fit as gay lovers here, I’m not sure exactly where else—“

“Look,” Jensen says hotly, “I’m sure you’re a great kid and all, and a smart one at that, but I really don’t want to have to explain the semantics to you of exactly why this is a fucking terrible idea—“

“Why don’t you, then?” Jared says, in his politest and most restrained tone possible.

“For starters, undercover isn’t just some simple ‘let’s play pretend’ game. It’s serious fucking work, on the clock, 24/7. You’re never not playing the part, and when you’re not playing the part you’re reporting intel back to headquarters. And for two people who have never worked together, and may not even get along, that’s a lot to ask.”

“We were matched for partner compatibility based entirely on our work in the field. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Just because it looks good on paper, kid…”

“Well based on your reaction, I would assume this whole tantrum is because you came into this determined to hate me from the get-go, right?”

Jared very nearly claps his hands over his mouth; he honestly hadn’t meant to let the retort fly, the whole point of this debrief was for them to establish a relationship of trust, and accusing Jensen of hating him was probably the opposite way of doing that. Stupid stupid stupid.

“You know what they say about assuming, right?” Jensen says in a low voice that has a very heavy layering of ‘Don’t fuck with me’ in it.

“Agent Padalecki here’s got an additional degree in Psychology.” Director Morgan says again in that rumbling tone, and though Jared appreciates the back up, it sounds too proud to be seen as anything but a brag. “He’s pretty damn good at deducing the facts from the details.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jensen smiles now, cocky, crossing his arms over his chest. “And that’s what a small packet of paper told you? That I hate you?”

And really, it’s the challenge in Jensen’s voice that truly does it. “I believe the expression I’d use, since I’m just deducing here, is ‘doesn’t play well with the other kids on the playground’.”

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head when Jensen blinks, his stance loosening just enough to indicate his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that, and truthfully, Jared didn’t know up until this moment that he was capable of saying it so bluntly. It’s the know-it-all in him, the hungry ambitious bug that got him through all levels of education top of his class that took over. Jared can’t walk away from a fight where he’s wrong. Call it a character flaw, if you will.

Jensen’s surprise is the in Jared was looking for though, so he pushes on, trying the more charming tactic, keeping his stance open and his tone genial, drawing on years of experience and people who were determined to hate him from the moment he stepped in the room.

“You should know that I came into this wary about you as well. I mean, you’re Agent Ackles, who hasn’t heard of you? But regardless of whether you like me or not, we’re clearly the best choices to find out who’s making and selling these drugs. And while I might not be the world’s best agent, I _am_ the world’s most hard working one, and if you meet me halfway, Jensen, I think we’d both learn a lot from each other.”

Jensen darts a glance in Jeff’s direction, who looks just as shocked as he feels at the sudden earnest declaration, because Jared meant it, and maybe that’s what’s so surprising about it. But Jared stands his ground, unwavering; with his hand outstretched and what he hopes is warm and not over eager smile on his face.

He feels the steady calculation of Jensen sizing him up, actually looking at him, a slow sweep of green eyes that feels way less hot than it could be from Jensen. It makes him all the more insecure of his own height, gangliness, and shaggy hair, and all the more aware of Jensen’s own wiry frame, from the effortless musculature of his shoulders and the slightly unkempt but nonetheless short head of dirty blonde hair, and that mouth, twisted into a frown accompanied by complementary jaw clenching and blazing eyes of intensity.

It’s a lot to take in for a first meet-up, and Jared’s almost grateful when Jensen steps away, more composed than he was moments before.

“Ackles will suffice. No need for first names.” Jensen says coldly, swiping his case file from the desk and ignoring Padalecki’s offered hand entirely.

 

 

Their cover names are Jensen Brady and Jared Forrester. They are a very young, very gay couple looking to settle down in a safe city, so naturally the couple picked Irvine, a suburb on a suburb that’s within driving distance of Disneyland, and ranked one of the safest cities to live in the States. Jensen runs a startup business in web design, and Jared works as an out-of-home private accountant for B-list celebrities. They love pottery, karaoke nights, and doing puzzles together on Sunday nights. They met in Undergrad at USC, while Jared worked in the library and Jensen needed help using the printers. They go on date nights every other week, they snuggle, they are in possession of an array of elaborate sex toys that speak to being quite adventurous in the bedroom, and they are head over heels in love since the day they met freshman year.

They are nauseating, in Jensen’s professional opinion, but that’s neither here nor there.

Jensen Brady and Jared Forrester spend the next twenty four hours ironing out every single detail of their covers, from sexual kinks to how they like their steaks cooked. Padalecki writes every ounce of information down in a small notebook, only glancing up every so often to nod or offer some suggestion for part of their cover. It’s relatively painless as far as cover story brainstorming goes, which only serves to put Jensen on edge further, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s heard the absolute horror stories of partners who have never worked together being thrown together for an undercover case, many having ended with a Human Resources intervention at worst. Jensen is prepared for his new partner to be the nightmare Jensen’s been avoiding all these years by working on his own.

But Padalecki is merely polite at best and anal retentive at worst, double checking facts and personality traits as they go over their covers, which Jensen can’t even fault him on, even if it is annoying.

Their operation is headed by Special Agent Cortese, the spunky brunette that debriefed them. She’ll spend the majority of the mission calling the shots from safely behind a desk rather than out on the field, which Jensen isn’t too crazy about, but Padalecki seems to know and respect her, so Jensen goes along with her plans, taking mental notes as they go through every detail of the Op, and reminding himself that he can always improvise if the rules and regulations get to be a little too irksome to pay attention to.

The mission is simple; become friends with all the neighbors, twelve people, six houses on one cul-de-sac. Gain their trust, and hopefully, figure out which couple is mixing and creating narcotics behind closed doors. They move in to their pre-furnished home just a few weeks before Thanksgiving, a house right on the end of the cul-de-sac that the FBI ‘bought’ and had shown as ‘For Sale’ for the weeks leading up to Jared and Jensen getting there. Cortese instructs that they are to integrate themselves with the rest of the neighborhood as much as possible, hosting dinner parties, blending in, participating in all events that might pop around the Holidays. The more present they are in their neighbor’s personal lives, the more Intel they’ll have. Their only goal is to be the cheeriest, neighbor-liest, holiday spirit-iest young couple they could be.

“What exactly is the specific drug we’re looking for?” Jensen asks, after listening to Padalecki and Cortese go back and forth a bit about their surveillance tactics, and ways to interact with the neighbors without being too suspicious and newcomers to the community. “You said they started with weed, and then experiment from there?”

“Their most recent monstrosity of a product is somewhat of a weed on crack, in terms of potency. Looks like weed, smokes like weed, yet the main systems have a very bipolar effect on the substance user. Sometimes it relaxes them, other times it just amps them up. The main symptoms show in the sex drive, it’s some kind of cousin of Viagra. It produces a really intense high, and depending on the subject, leads to a huge increase in arousal, pupils majorly dilated. Having sex on the stuff usually results in passing out. But none of that’s important, because you won’t be coming into direct contact with it. All you need to know is they call it Mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?” Jared snorts. “A bit grade school, don’t you think?”

“Don’t underestimate these fuckers.” Cortese says by way of answer. “They may seem like your typical upper-middle class white suburbanites, but the entire neighborhood has graduated from the minor and major Ivy Leagues, and they’re all from entitled families who would and probably have killed to cover up their reputations. Just find out who’s making the Mistletoe. Don’t buy any, don’t even ask to sample if the drugs come out at the Holiday parties that you’re bound to get invited to. Just find out whom, and we’ll do the rest.”

They meet their operation analyst a few minutes later, a scrawny kid who walks into the room like he just woken up to the nasty realization of one bitch of a hangover. Jensen would recognize the sunglasses and green-tinged complexion on anyone. The guy takes a deep inhale, then says, in a decidedly bitchy tone. “Oh god, don’t tell me I’m babysitting _this_ lug’s ass again.”

“Nice to see you too, you cranky old son-of-a-bitch.” Padalecki smirks. “And you’re late, to no one’s surprise.” He bounds over and exchanges what’s got to be the most complicated dude-bro handshake Jensen’s ever seen in his life, jazz fingers, high fives and all.

“Chad is never late.” The guy nodes sagely, and it takes Jensen a second realize the douchebag is actually referring to himself in third person. “Chad is always there exactly when he needs to be.”

“Well unfortunately for Chad, he’s gonna have a crap load of reading to do tonight to catch up.” Cortese says pointedly, standing and thwapping a file on his chest. “Ackles, meet Chad Michael Murray, our best analyst and our biggest idiot at once. Padalecki has worked with him on multiple missions, I think you’ll find him a quick analyst, if a bit of a bitter pill to swallow.”

“Which must make you my spoonful of sugar, Gen, you’re looking radiant as always and a little bit of you always makes me taste better.”

“Try and restrain any temptations you might have to shoot him, will you?” Cortese says, not even blinking at what Jensen would consider a pretty offensive comment. “He seems like an ass, but he’s really quite smart when he’s locked in a van with nothing to do but work on the mission at hand. I promise.”

Jensen can’t be so sure, but he’s got a feeling that he hasn’t much say in this matter. Chad takes them through the schematics of the house, basic security cameras that also pick up audio. The house won’t be bugged apart from your typical security for suburban coverage, but Chad gives them each an earpiece to be covered by skin prosthetics, advising only to wear them on events where there is lots of activity. Chad himself will have tabs on every room in the house, parked in a van the street behind their cul-de-sac, but while Chad can talk to them through the earpiece, they will have no way of communicating back. It’s impressive, because once Murray gets started, he’s actually quite good at his job, focused and attentive, even if he can’t seem to utter a single sentence without turning it into some kind of joke or asshole-quip.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Chad says, holding a finger up as he packs his laptop safely away and rolls up the schematics to the house, “Because I have eyes and ears on the house, there is a slight possibility that others will be listening, looking for a sign that you’re communicating with someone from the inside, aka me. To avoid that, we’ve set up two ways of communication. The first, you dial 911 on the telephone in the Kitchen, which will reroute to Cortese’s office. This is only to be used if one or both of you is in imminent danger, or you’ve got the proof you need and are ready to be pulled out.”

“The second,” Chad grins a bit lecherously, “Is a bit of genius on my part. The two of you will need to make regular reports of whatever you discovered, so you will do so from the gigantic walk in shower next to your bedroom.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Jared whines.

“No can do, Jay-Bird. It’s important we keep up the façade that you two are in L.O.V.E, which means sexy shower time. This allows you guys to keep up the rouse, while also getting work done in the side. The sound of the shower will drown out most of your voices, in case they try and bug the house, and it’ll help us maintain the idea that there is nothing you two love more than fucking each other’s brains out.”

“Jesus Christ Chad…” Jared groans, while Jensen simply clenches his jaw, almost positive that Murray is enjoying himself.

The rest of the cover build is relatively painless, but still Padalecki is quiet in a way that unsettles Jensen, because while he’s is used to taking the lead, he’s not used to people not having a lot to say about it. He’s not exactly loved and adored among his FBI co-workers. Respected, sure, but he’s not the easiest person to work with, and he’d be the first to admit that.

On a break for sub sandwiches and coffee, sometime in the AM, Padalecki finally slides into a seat next to Jensen at the conference table, offering a small nervous smile and holding out a coffee like Jensen might snap at his hand like a rabid animal. It’s…nice, if a little odd.

“Your file said you liked yours black,” Padalecki offers.

“That all it said?” Jensen raises an eyebrow.

Padalecki opens his mouth as if to say something, but then appears to think better of it, and retreats back to his chair.

“I’m looking forward to working with you Agent Ackles, even though you’re convinced I’m the opposite.”

“I’ve never known an FBI agent that did teamwork well.”

“Well, sources say I’m not your average FBI agent.” Padalecki shrugs, offering a smile that is equal parts ego and self-deprecation. The fact that it comes with dimples too is…unsettling.

Gut instinct is a thing that has served Jensen well over many years of many successful missions. Even when everything fell to shit, gut instinct always came through for him, and in this moment, gut instinct was screaming at him that something was off about Jared Padalecki, off in the way you can smell when milk is about to go bad, but hasn’t quite yet. Jensen can’t explain it, just knows down to his marrow, that that smile means trouble, and he doesn’t trust it, not for one minute.

 

\--

 

Two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee later, they’ve shed their badges and work clothes and are Officially Undercover, only to discover that while their new house on Kansas Lane came furnished, they have to do most of the moving anyhow.

Their hefty cardboard boxes marked ‘Jared’ and ‘Jensen’ turn out to actually be full of heavy Kevlar vests and surveillance equipment and god knows what else. Jensen stores what he can in the spare rooms and extra cabinets that come with locks—the house is fucking _huge_ , the kind of place where the expectation is to have ten kids and three dogs to eventually fill all that extra space. How any one is supposed to believe that Jared and Jensen are people who want to start a family here is beyond him, but Jensen only questions it in silence as he unpacks several silencers and packs of bullets, storing them in his underwear drawer and bathroom cabinet, respectively.

“Baaaaaaaabe?” Jared’s sugary sweet voice echoes up the stairs and Jensen is going to _kill_ him for that one. It was Jared’s idea—sometime as they were driving over the moving van this morning—to start trying out different petnames for Jensen to help build the façade. Jensen had objected immediately and vehemently, but that didn’t stop Jared from plowing on ahead like it was some kind of fantastic idea.

“What?” Jensen shouts back, all acid.

“Could you come and help me put the China away, sugarplum?”

Jensen hesitates with his hand on one of the tazers before shoving it under the bathroom sink and heading downstairs. Padalecki’s hefting up boxes of actual China, sweating in the early afternoon sun of suburban California, and whistling between his teeth. Objectively, Jensen can acknowledge that Padalecki’s in top physical condition, something he can’t say about a lot of Agents he’s met and worked with. His body is lankier than Jensen, but the muscle along those limbs is toned and taut, less like a body builder and more like a swimmer, or a runner, and Jensen can tell without asking that Padalecki doesn’t actually need help putting away the fine China.

“Sugarplum?” Jensen says flatly, by way of announcing himself.

Padalecki grins for about the eightieth fucking time today in Jensen’s direction, “Thought it’d get your attention.” He casts a sidelong glance out the window and adds in a jerk of his head. “We’ve got company.”

Sure enough, the neighbors and gossip committee have begun to gather on the edges of their lawns, whispering over garden hoses and newspapers, all looking in the direction of their house, and the auspicious moving van parked outside.

“I expect the welcome home brownie trays will be here within the hour, along with an invitation to at least three different Thanksgivings.”

“They‘ll probably think we’re weird.”

“Then that’ll make the invitations all the more important.” Jared grins. “If they think we’re weird, they’ll want us around all the more for entertainment. Remember, these guys are bored out of their minds.”

Jensen says nothing, just silently lifts a stack of China and places in one of the upper cabinets above the stove. Their kitchen is huge, excessively so, with shiny chrome appliances, granite counters, and an island that comes with a built in wine fridge. It’s every bit of excess that Jensen was taught to live without, growing up in New York, and even with his cover it still feels a bit uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Padalecki says after a minute, “I don’t really care for it, either.”

“Huh?” Jensen snaps to.

“The house, right?” Padalecki is leaning back against the counter now, gesturing with one hand at all the shiny utensils and state of the art décor. “I mean, it’s huge and spacious, but it’s almost kind of daunting, isn’t it?”

“It feels cold.” Jensen finds himself saying, strangely comforted by the notion that Padalecki seemed to be following his line of thinking. “Like, this doesn’t feel like a place for living.”

“I’ve always been more of a brick walls and broken in furniture kind of guy myself. No fancy island, no wine coolers. Just a fridge and a stove, maybe a microwave and toaster.”

“Exactly.” Jensen responds quietly, a bit caught off guard by the whole exchange. He’d assumed that after working several years in Los Angeles, Padalecki was just used to that excessive Hollywood lifestyle that seemed to be the trend when you had enough cash to afford it.

“I’ve always been a guy who can do without the ‘finer things’.” Padalecki smiles ruefully. “And I’m sure you can too.” He balances his palms on the counter, leaning forward. “Guess that’s why we make such a good couple, right?”

Now it’s Jensen’s turn to smile ruefully. Right. Couple. This was all part of the façade, building a rapport that felt close enough to how live-in-boyfriends would talk.

“Guess so.” Jensen leans forward, slipping on the mask of his cover and giving Padalecki the most suggestive, flirty smile he could muster. Padalecki was laying it on thick with flirtations and pet names, but Jensen was nothing if not competitive; two could play at this game.

He opens his mouth to lay out an equally cheesy line when the doorbell rings shrilly. Padalecki sends a wink in Jensen’s direction, whispering, “Like clockwork,” as he swings the door open.

“Oh!” He exclaims, and if Jensen hadn’t been with him the last twenty four hours, he would have believed the sugary sweet tone of excitement. “You must be the neighbors!”

“Sure am!” A woman who looks more like a model than anyone Jensen’s every seen steps over the threshold, her auburn hair and perfect makeup speaking to what Jensen’s assume is either hours of effort or natural godsent beauty. She smiles wide and holds out a hand for Padalecki to shake, before leaning forward and kissing both his cheeks. Behind her stands a man that Jensen assumes is her husband, a stockier man with long hair and a piercing in one ear, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Danneel Kane, so pleased to finally have someone move in across the street! This is my husband, Chris. And here is a plate of goodies,” Danneel shoves a plate into Jared’s unexpecting hands, “To welcome y’all to the neighborhood!”

“Oh my god!” Jared practically squeals again. “You shouldn’t have! And I’m Jared Forrester, I can’t believe we are so blessed to have such a warm welcome from our neighbors.”

Jensen watches, almost amazed, as Danneel’s smile goes from polite to enthused as she takes in Jared’s reaction, before her eyes flick over to him, hungry with curiosity. “And this is your…?”

“My stoic and borderline-shy boyfriend,” Padalecki gabs, leaning towards Danneel conspiratorially. “But I promise, he’s really a marshmallow underneath the brooding exterior.”

Jensen tries not to bristle at that, stepping forward and offering a hand to both Danneel and Chris. “Jensen Brady, Professional Brooding Boyfriend.”

The slightly sarcastic quip does the trick to alleviate any wariness, both the Kane’s chuckle and shakes his hand. They exchange small talk and pleasantries, helping themselves to the Welcome Brownies in the foyer but as much as Jensen tries to focus, he spends most of the conversation trying to figure out exactly when Padalecki slipped a hand around his waist to tug him close, splaying a slightly possessive palm against his hip. It’s a gesture that would feel essentially mindless to a couple that was living together, but for the life of him Jensen can’t relax into it.

It’s not that he likes or dislikes it, it’s just an invasion of his space that he hadn’t been prepared to face so soon, a forced intimacy all for the purpose of the job that he’d never gotten to practice.

Dammit. _This_ is why Jensen has been against this whole ‘partners’ thing from the start.

Just when he thinks it’s over, and the Kane’s are headed for the door, the bell rings again and another couple enters their home with baked goods and curious eyes. Jensen feels a headache coming on, even though this is exactly what their job is supposed to be, and forces himself to smile and shake hands and play Stoic Borderline-Shy Boyfriend, preferring Jared to take the main stage as Hostess with the Mostest. It allows Jensen focus on drawing up mental profiles for each of the couples, because one because two which quickly turns into all six married couples stopping by to say hello and spoil them with baked goods.

Of the six couples, Jensen probably likes the Kanes the most, Chris and Danneel and brand of Texas that makes Jensen almost miss his mom and her twang, displaced in the New York dialect. The Tigermans, Sandy and Gabe, seem a bit more reserved, the conversation more clipped, a bit more awkward, but they come and go with smiles. Alona and Justin Hartley are the youngest couple in the neighborhood, fresh out of grad school and still in that slap happy Honeymoon phase where it’s obvious they’d rather be fucking each other’s brains out than talking to the new neighbors, but they are very friendly and sweet.

The Collins couple, Misha and Vicki, are a bit more off the wall, and within seconds of their introductions, Jared and Jensen are invited to join them for therapeutic couples yoga and sunrise on the beach. They definitely seem out there enough to be the kind of people who might experiment with drugs, Jensen files that away for later. The Evans couple are both sweet as rain, homegrown Americans like something out of an ad for the 1950s nuclear family, even bringing over an apple pie to welcome Jared and Jensen to the neighborhood.

Jensen makes plans to go golfing with Chris, and Padalecki’s exchanged numbers with Mrs. Evans, promising to go shopping the next time there’s a sale. The last couple to head over with a box of chocolates are the Amells, Stephen and Katie, both of whom seem chill and laid back, much more so than any of the other couples.

It feels like hours of meeting everyone on the cul-de-sac, and even though there’s just six houses and twelve people, Jensen’s met enough people that if he were anyone else, and this wasn’t exactly his line of work, his head would be spinning like a screw. As it is, he’s mostly got a headache at all the paperwork he’s going to have to fill out and reports to file for Headquarters. There’s a total of six houses on their block apart from him and Padalecki. Six couples, twelve smug married couples who all seem desperate for something exciting to numb the dull pain of suburban life, and apparently the hot young gay couple seems to fit that need to a T.

Most of all, Jensen is aware of how eerily good Jared is at this. Most fresh-out-of-Quantico newbies take a while to warm up to covers, stumbling over themselves in the attempts to oversell the cover story. But Padalecki, to his credit, is a born liar, and a damn brilliant actor. Not one second of their entire two hour ring-round-the-neighbors feels forced or ingenuine. He’s attentive, adaptive, and quick on his feet, always in the spirit of entertainment, expertly picking conversation topics and common interests that make him an instant hit among their neighbors.

It’s alarming, is what it is. Jensen’s got half a mind to pin Jared Padalecki down as a natural born sociopath. Even _he_ isn’t that good, with years of undercover experience under his belt. It only serves to simultaneously make Jensen trust and mistrust his partner all the more, comforted by his on-the-nose thinking, suspicious of how easy it seems.

They bid final farewells and Jensen closes the door as the Amells exit the porch with a humungous sigh, exhausted just _thinking_ about the time he’s going to be spending with them over the next few months.

He tucks the brownies and pies and cookies in the fridge with some well utilized Saran wrap and trudges wearily up the stairs, filing away names and their corresponding faces as he does so. What he wouldn’t give nothing more than a fucking beer and maybe one of those stray cigarettes he keeps tucked away for the rough nights.

He stumbles upon their bedroom, stopping short.

Funny. Jensen had seen the gigantic and very suggestive master bed while moving in earlier. It had just never occurred to him, the reality that he’d not only be sleeping in it, but sleeping in it next to another person.

Padalecki, to his credit, looks just as dubious about the arrangement, standing in the doorway next to Jensen, his arms slack at his side and his cheeks pinking up. It’d be hilarious, if Jensen weren’t already so mortified for the two of them.

“Uh.” Padalecki gestures lamely at the bed. “Do you have a preference for which side you like to sleep on? I’ve always been a top bunk kid myself but uh…I don’t think that applies here.”

There’s a night stand on the table that Jensen knows without checking is stuffed chalk full of condoms and lube. All part of the façade, and Jensen’s sure Chad their fuckboy analyst had everything to do it.

Fuck having one cigarette; Jensen’s going to burn through the whole pack in a week at this rate.

“Oh,” He says, before immediately defaulting to, “I’ll take the floor.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Padalecki says, ever the gentlemen.

“Look kid, I don’t know what kind of partner set up _you’re_ used to, but this is way above my pay grade—“

“Are you really that no-homo that you can’t sleep next to your partner?”

The double entendre of ‘partner’ is not lost on Jensen, he bites his cheek, staring at the bed with his head pounding. He’s so fucking tired, and that bed is the only thing he wants in that moment. But still, it’s _weird_. Jensen’s slept in some pretty awful places, in alleyways covered in piles of trash on snowy nights, in suitcases in a plane baggage compartment, he’s slept alongside murderers, rapists, mafia, an assortment of New York’s finest scum, and never once blinked.

Now he’s faced with a comfortable, clean mattress and someone who’s gonna pull a gun to have his back if things go bump in the night. The fact that he’s even balking is fucking ridiculous, and yet…

“It’s not that.”

“What is it then?” Padalecki cocks his head like a confused puppy.

“I’m a restless sleeper.”

“And I sleep like the dead. Match made in heaven.”

“Padalecki…”

“Ackles.”

They stare at each other across perfectly neat sheets and despite Jensen’s earlier assessments he knows for a fact those are Egyptian cotton sheets and truthfully it looks like a really fucking comfortable bed.

Fuck.

Jensen clambers in the bed, too flustered and irritated to remove nothing but his shoes and socks as he maneuvers his body to the further most edge of the mattress and teetering on his side. He stuffs the pillow under his head and tries not to swear too loudly under his breath.

“Why is it so cold in here?” He snaps, not meaning to but not bothering to correct himself. He rubs his feet together, perpetually cold toes getting barely any heat from the friction.

“I think Chad had mentioned something about the heating system messing with our communication devices and radar cams in the house so…” Padalecki trails off, but Jensen just grunts in assent, reminding himself to strangle Chad once all this was over. He’d never once heard of a furnace heating system fucking with comms, technology was too advanced for that, so when Jensen had a moment he’d strangle the life out of that little shit and figure out what the was going on.

Jensen hears the rustle over fabric over skin and soft footsteps as Padalecki pads to the bathroom and begins what seems like a thorough evening routine of brushing, flossing and cleansing. By the time he emerges, Jensen can do nothing but pray that Padalecki isn’t one of those whackos who prefers to sleep naked on a nightly basis. _That_ would be a sight to wake up to, and not one Jensen has any interest in being exposed to.

Padalecki fusses with the sheets a bit before sliding onto the mattress, tosses and turns and elbows into several positions while Jensen screws his eyes shut and practically prays for exhaustion to just knock him out because this is agony, pure awkward agony. They can’t talk about the case, or at least, they’re not supposed to, unless they’re in the fucking shower together, and outside of this case, Jensen’s positive that he and his new partner have absolutely nothing in common.

It’s been a weird night, and Jensen can only assume that it’s all downhill from here on out.

They lay there, staring at the ceiling for what feels like centuries. Eventually Jensen does the only thing that’s tried and true. He counts sheep, and paces his breaths until they match Padaleckis, slipping into a strange concentrated meditation that soon trips him up and into sleep.

 

\--

 

Jared vaguely wonders if the expression “never wake a sleeping giant” originated from a more specific version of the phrase: never wake a sleeping Ackles.

“Hey,” Jared says, having been awake for an hour already and nearly bored out of his mind. “Honey. You up?”

Ackles most decidedly is _not_ up, but that doesn’t stop Jared from poking at his shoulder. They’re supposed to be up at o seven hundred every day to begin staking out the environment, sussing out the neighbors behavioral patterns: when they leave for work, when they water the gardenias, when they start pouring the wine because it’s always five o’ clock somewhere.

“Honey. _Hooooooooooney_.”

Jensen raises his head, eyes bloodshot and glaring.

“The _fuck_ do you want?”

Jared actually has to suppress a grin. There’s something about an under rested and grumpy Jensen that is, frankly, gratifying. It’s good to know that there’s one thing this guy takes seriously, and that’s apparently his REM sleep.

“Rise and shine, buttercup. Time for a hot shower and some one-on-one time.” Jared waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Ackles just rolls back over, unimpressed.

“Report back without me. You did most of the talking yesterday anyhow.”

“That’s not how this works and you know it. Partners, Jensen dearest, _partners_.”

“Fuck off.”

“I know for a fact you haven’t showered since we moved everything in. No boyfriend of mine is going to smell this bad.”

The word ‘boyfriend’ seems to irritate Ackles enough that he sits up in bed, hair stuck to one side, drool on his cheek. It’s almost annoying how good the ‘under rested and grumpy’ looks on him. Jared’s starting to just accept the fact that probably everything looks good on Jensen Ackles, just like it does on James Bond and every other flash and rogue hero.

The quicker Jared gets over it, the sooner he can stop fixating on it, really. They’ve got a job to do, after all.

Jared goes over to the bathroom, turns on the faucet and runs the water to near scalding, knowing that Jensen will be able to see the steam drifting out of the bathroom door. Unaffected, and determined not to act like the virginal rookie, he strips his clothes off where he knows Jensen can see, to show that he doesn’t really, truly doesn’t care, and gets in the shower. Water thrums over his body, and he allows it to unknot tension in his shoulders that he didn’t know existed, carried since the very beginning of this mission.

He grabs shampoo and focuses on working it in to the roots of his hair. Several minutes later as he rinses, he hears the shower door slide open, smirking to himself.

“Knew you couldn’t say no to a hot shower,” He gloats.

“Shut up and move over,” Jensen grouses, smelling like mint, probably from having brushed his teeth seconds before.

Jared maneuvers over to lean back against the wall, averting his eyes to the shower door, concentrating on each indentation in the patterned glass, the once peaceful silence of the shower now slightly tense and a whole lot of awkward. Jensen, seems to pick up on it. “If you look anywhere near my dick I swear to god…”

It’s a vaguely offensive statement, and a homophobic one at that, which is odd, because Jensen’s file indicated him to be just about as straight as Jared is—i.e., not at all—so Jared just rolls his eyes and rolls with the punch. He’s not going to let Jensen rattle him. He’s not a rookie, and he’s not about to let anyone—least of all Jensen—think that of him.

“I’m not going to look at your dick. Whatever hideous growth malformation lies on it isn’t something I want to expose myself to, so you’re good.”

Jensen snorts and gropes for the shampoo, eyes closed underneath the shower spray, keeping a safe distance, but still hogging most of the water. Jared stares at the glass door again, trying to stop the loud and angry way his heart is pounding. He knew, in an offhand way, why both he and Jensen were deemed ‘perfect’ for this case, but he didn’t truly understand until it was announced they’d be faking at being madly in love. But Jensen seems over the awkwardness of it, at least, enough to make jokes, which means Jared can be, too.

He lets Jensen wash himself before saying, quietly, “So uh, should we talk about how we’re going to approach the case? Who we should look into first?”

Jensen snorts again. “Let’s just do the job and not discuss semantics, okay? Just do as I say and we’ll be in and out in no time. You listen to me, and we kick this case right in the ass.”

“I’m not sure that’s how a partnership is supposed to work.”

Jensen, having rinsed his hair, rounds on Jared, glaring through dripping water and looking, frankly, simultaneously crankier and hotter than he had when he first woke up. Damn him.

“Kid, I’ve been through this whole undercover shtick more times than I can count. I have pretended to be in love with people who didn’t know who I really was, and people who did. I have done worse things than you can imagine for this country and I do it because I listen to one person and one person only: me. The sooner you learn that, the easier you’ll make it on yourself. So stop tryin’ to be my friend, and focus on getting us the fuck out of this partnership, okay?”

Jensen doesn’t wait for an answer, just steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist in one fluid moment. Jared scrambles out after him, wet and suddenly cold.

“Wait! We gotta call—“

“You do it.” Jensen waves him off. “I don’t care enough to stand in the shower for twenty more minutes.”

Jared flounders, looking nervously at the intercom that is built into the shower just above the spray zone. Gen’s not going to be happy, her and Chad explicitly instructed them to report together, to get in the shower and get out of the shower together, at least once every few days. But Jensen’s long gone, somehow miraculously leaving Jared feeling that they have even less in common than they did before, getting off on even more uneven ground.

With a suppressed groan of frustration and a rather quick and furious jerk off session to unwind the tension that had somehow reset into his shoulders throughout the duration of the conversation with his partner, Jared spends another ten minutes or so scrubbing himself clean before pressing a small button by the speaker system on one of the larger tiles of the shower, trying as hard as he can not to feel like a complete tattletale.

Sometimes he hates himself for being such a stickler for the rules, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Jensen be right about this whole thing.

 

\--

 

Warming Jensen Ackles up to the idea of ‘partners’ turns out to be more difficult than Jared could ever have anticipated. Genevieve is rightfully furious that Jensen has no observations to report (“I report only the necessary stuff,” Jensen had said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a pot, and pointedly not asking Jared if he had wanted any. “Tell Cortese not to worry, I’ve got it covered.”) She demands that Jensen be present at the next shower-debrief (“Even if you have to handcuff him to you so help me God,” Gen had sworn, looking pissed as hell.)

What had started off as uneven footing was soon becoming Jared scrambling on a slippery slope as Jensen hiked right on ahead in his custom made boots that seemed to defy mistakes and fuck-ups. Jared may have had charm cultivated from years of practice, but Jensen had a gut instinct that seemed impeccable. Where Jared had to carefully observe and make time-charts of each neighbors individual morning routine for gardening/fetching the paper, Jensen just seemed to _know_ , and left the house magically just at the same time the neighbors did.

Other times Jensen just took off, without explanation or announcement, leaving Jared to slightly panic and wonder where the fuck he could have gone, only to return several hours later, saying he went out for drinks with all the guys from the block, or the batting cages, or some other place that allowed him time to wean his way in to the cover, without Jared’s knowledge or assistance.

It drives Jared crazy, because they are _supposed_ to do this together, but every time he brings it up Jensen just rolls his eyes and says, “You haven’t been doing this nearly as long as I have. Ease off, kid. Just do your job, and let me do mine.”

Jared would frankly love to tell Jensen what for, but every time he opens his mouth Jensen’s out the door, or off to shower in private, or to shut himself in his study for ‘work’. Which leaves Jared nothing to do but fret about on the front lawn pruning the flowers and exchanging the occasional small talk with the neighbors, none of which have extended an invitation for Jared to go somewhere or do something. Stupid, really, that he should be jealous of Jensen for getting closer to their potential criminal suspects than he is. But he is, and every time Jensen fucks off to somewhere by himself is another pinprick in Jared’s potential career, deflating away in the face of the shadow that is Jensen I-Do-What-I-Want Ackles.

He had known--from reading the file, from hearing the rumors, from meeting a couple agents with horror stories, who’d worked with him before—that Jensen wasn’t the ideal candidate as a partner. But Jared had naively believed in the silver lining of the situation. That Jensen might be, while standoffish and sarcastic and often prickly, a good guy to work with, one Jared could learn from.

But with each day of this case, this was turning into every one of the nightmares Jared had been told would happen.

By the fourth morning, as Jensen disappears without a trace, showered and out the door by the time Jared’s even rolled out of bed, leaving him to report to Genevieve alone for the second time—with really nothing to report, because Jensen hasn’t told him if he’s found fuck all—Jared decides to take matters into his own hands.

He quickly wires in and deals with a seething Agent Cortese, finishes showering, and leisurely heads downstairs before picking up the telephone and dialing the number he’s got scrawled on the small pad of paper taped to the fridge.

“Hayley? Hi, it’s Jared, from across the street? Great, I’m great…” Jared walks over to the window, smiling and walking towards window, looking out at the small cul-de-sac, the evenly spaced houses of two to three stories. Gabe Tigerman’s just stepped out of his house to grab the newspaper. Katie Amell is just coming back from her morning run, checking her pulse as she jogs in place at the front of her driveway. The Collins’ are packing up after finishing their sunrise yoga on the front lawn.

It’s a perfectly quiet morning in Suburbia, and Jared’s partner is nowhere in sight.

“Listen, I remember you offering to have a get together with the girls on the block the other day. Well, consider me cashing in on that offer. How does seven at my place sound? Tonight.”

 

\--

 

Jensen’s arms are aching more than he can remember them aching in a while. Chris Kane is an _animal_ , and the Tough Mudder 5k that they ran on a total whim was possibly more brutal than most of Jensen’s bootcamp training back at police academy. He’s reeking of sweat and mud, not to mention beer, because Chris had insisted on taking him out for lunch as thanks for stepping in last minute as his partner in the race. They’d ate and drank and played pool for the better part of the evening, and then Chris had swiped Jensen into the country club he’s a Gold Member at, and Jensen soaked in the steam rooms until the mud had seeped from his pores to the best of its ability.

It was a good day, and what’s better, Jensen’s almost positive that Chris isn’t someone they should be suspecting of running the manufacturing and dealing of illegal substances. He’s a family man, a homegrown Texas soul who works really hard as a contractor, wants to raise enough money to ensure a future to the three kids he and Danni keep trying for. He’s got a rugged, down to earth sense of humor that jives with Jensen’s, and if he weren’t a suspect of drug crimes, he’d probably be a really good friend to have.

Jensen clambers out of Chris’ truck and waves a near-cheery goodbye and trudges up the house, that hungry feeling in his gut when a case is getting good. He’ll probably have to call in and update Cortese, but maybe he’ll postpone that a bit and wait until he’s knocked off even more suspects.

Hell, maybe he’ll even let Padalecki in a bit on what’s been going on. Jensen would normally feel bad for leaving him out, but the kid was so _annoying_ , so caught up on reminding Jensen to do this and that and report to Cortese and get on the comms with Chad that it’s practically a relief to get away from him. Padalecki is the kind of agent that literally kills all things fun or original in police-work. But that’s not Jensen’s fault, so as long as he can avoid having to actually let Padalecki in on the decidedly unruly behavior he’s been up to, he’s in the clear for a serious ass-kicking from Cortese, and Ferris, or likely both at once.

He’s just unlocked the front door when he hears the unmistakable sound of girlish laughter and clinking glasses, he freezes right in the foyer, unsure if he should be reaching for the gun in his dufflebag or walking forward.

“Honey!” He calls out, voice booming throughout the house as he walks to the source of the noise. “I’m home!”

He comes into the view of the living room, where Padalecki grins before shouting, “Yeah you are! C’mere you sexy thing!”

Jensen freezes, a bit disoriented, taking in the living room filled with Jared, and every other woman that lives in the cul-de-sac, sitting on the couches and love seats, each of them with a glass of wine in hand. The table is littered with what looks to be now-empty pizza boxes, and multiple bottles of wine. There’s some kind of crappy romantic comedy on the TV, but no one in the room is paying attention to it, all the girls giggling tipsily and clinking their glasses together.

“Holding your weekly book club, I see,” Jensen says, and then, just because he’s feeling extra sadistic, walks behind the couch and presses a chaste kiss to Jared’s cheek, so no one can see him pinching the meat of Jared’s arm because what the _fuck_ does he think he’s doing?

“Awwwwwwww!” All the women squeal before breaking out into more giggles.

“Wine night, actually,” Padalecki says sweetly, but Jensen sees the hardness in his eyes, the way he reclines slightly forward so Jensen can neither kiss nor pinch him again. “I thought it was about time I had all the girls over so we could share secrets, gossip about our husbands, the usual.”

He winks, slow and deliberate, and though Jensen hasn’t worked with Padalecki long enough to know all his tells, he knows that this is a blow, Jared’s own move in the game.

Jensen smiles tightly, “I hope you haven’t shared too much, _honey_.”

“Oh! He was just telling us about the first day you met!” Danni smirks. “Apparently you were _quite_ the first impression.”

“Was I now?”

“He was helpless—“ Padalecki cuts in, smiling. “Running on zero hours of sleep and three monster drinks, and had never been to the library to print something before. He was a senior, and had never been to the school library! It was adorable. Well, I helped him with his print out and he was so grateful and sweet, offered to buy me dinner right on the spot.”

“And it’s been love ever since?” Alona smiles eagerly.

“Love… among other things.” Padalecki adds, making a lewd, very sexual gesture that sends all the women howling, their wine nearly tipping over the edges of their glasses.

Jensen, despite himself, flushes red, embarrassed for reasons he doesn’t yet understand. This entire thing is fake, and yet it still feels like some kind of lost footing in this battle. He stands, a bit cowed, as all the women, and Jared, wipe at their tears of laughter.

“Well, this has been fun and all.” Hayley rises. “But with the arrival of Jared’s man comes the subtle reminder that we should get back to _our_ men, shall we ladies? I feel that we’ve pestered Jared for gossip quite long enough.”

A chorus of boos and whines respond, but everyone agrees, helping to clean up the pizza boxes and gather up the empty bottles. Katie apologizes for a stain in the carpet and Padalecki assures that it’s no big deal, and cleaning services exist for a reason. The women are all smiling and loose, and they’re all looking at Jared like he’s the cutest thing they’ve ever seen.

The game has changed, Jensen realizes, as they all embrace Padalecki and press tipsy kisses to his cheek and promise to add him to their Facebook group so he can be up to date with all the events. The game has changed, and as Jared closes the door behind the last woman—Hayley, who presses a second kiss to Jared’s cheek makes him promise to call her tomorrow—Jensen realizes that he did exactly what he swore to never do again. Padalecki walks back from the door to the living room, whistling and gathering up the wine glasses and heading for the kitchen, not once looking at him.

Jensen, for all his gut instinct, underestimated the situation, and just who he was dealing with.

He follows Jared into the kitchen, going from hot and embarrassed to angry in five seconds.

“And what the hell was that?”

Padalecki turns around, leaning back against the island, and though his stance is open and relaxed, his face is insufferable, the kind of smirk that Jensen has punched guys for sending in his direction before. “That, sugarplum, was wine and pizza nights. I got so lonesome by myself in the house, I thought I’d make some new friends. And how was your day?”

Jensen gapes like a fish and Padalecki’s smirk turns into a vicious grin, before he walks straight for the stairs.

Outrage, pure outrage, makes Jensen’s vision go red and he bounds up the stairs and slams his partner against the wall, snarling.

“Enough banter, asshole. What the fuck was that display?”

Padalecki has the actual audacity to laugh. _Laugh_.

“You invited criminal suspects into our home, are you _stupid_ Padalecki?”

“Those criminal suspects just gave me a well of information.”

“You know who has the drugs?”

“No.” Padalecki’s eyes dim a bit. “But I know who these women are. I know their insecurities, what they want, who’s cheating on her husband and who regrets getting married so young. I know them, and though it has nothing to do with what I want, it’s going to be the building blocks to what we need.”

“You don’t have the authority to just go on conducting investigations without consulting me—“

“Fuck you.” Jared spits, shoving Jensen’s hands off him and advancing. “I was doing what you haven’t been, or at least, have been but haven’t been reporting about it. I don’t have authority? _You_ don’t have authority, Jensen. Because you’re not my superior, no matter how much you may see it that way in your head. You’re my fucking partner, so quit your bitch fit and start acting like it.”

“Cortese hasn’t said anything—“

“Cortese hasn’t said anything because I’ve been making bullshit excuses to cover your ass. But I’m done doing that. Either you work with me, or I drag your ass through the mud. And I doubt your career can take much more after what happened in New Jersey.”

It’s another blow, and it stings something sharp. Jensen shoves Jared back and he just laughs, right in Jensen’s face. It infuriates Jensen more than he’s capable of expressing. Who the _fuck_ does this kid think he is? Thinking he knows a goddamn thing about Jensen?

“That’s right.” Padalecki continues, “I did my research, I made the calls. You botched a whole fucking operation. You had the guys, the reason we’re here, ready to walk right into a trap, and you didn’t fucking double check your information, you were so obsessed with doing things your way. And you know what you got for your troubles? A booby trap bomb and a whole bunch of injured agents who would have been fine if it weren’t for your fuckup.”

“I used to think you were one of the best agents the FBI had.” Padalecki crosses his arms over his chest. “But all the successful missions on paper can’t make up for the fact that you are a massive, egotistical, dick. And I, for one, am not going to let you walk all over my hard work, and this mission, just because you’ve got trust issues with partners. You’re not calling the shots anymore, we both are. The second you don’t, I’ll go right upstairs and tell Cortese everything and have your badge and gun by morning.”

Jensen breathes, shoulders heaving.

“What do you want me to do,” He says flatly, mouth set in a flat line.

Padalecki straightens, surprised by the sudden relent.

“First of all, if you’re going somewhere, or doing something, tell me. We don’t need to be attached at the hip but for fuck’s sake, tell me what you’re up to. Relay the information. Show and tell, all that jazz.”

Jensen nods begrudgingly.

“Second of all, you will report to Agent Cortese. I don’t care if it’s awkward and I don’t care if you hate sharing a shower. We will report, together, every three days, with whatever we’ve cobbled together.”

“And?”

It’s now Padalecki’s turn to flush, hesitating and scratching at the back of his neck.

“We need to be more in love with each other.”

“Excuse me?”

“The girls were talking tonight. They’ve never seen you really… act affectionate towards me. They think you’re kind of a dick, and that I’m dating a dick. So, we need to be madly in love. I know it’s awkward and I know it’s the last thing either of us want to do, but we’ve got to sell it, or this whole operation will be a bust.”

A pause, and then Jensen nods, his anger simmering down. “Right. Okay.”

Padalecki turns and trudges up the stairs, and it isn’t until he turns away that Jensen notes the exhaustion knitted in his shoulders, the slump of his step.

“One more thing.” He turns over his shoulder, no longer sounding angry as much as he sounds plain ragged. “I know you don’t want to get close and you want to maintain professionalism and all that, but call me Jared, even behind closed doors. You’re making me sick of my own goddamn last name at this point.”

And with that, he’s up the stairs, Jensen following suit, cowed and quiet.

 

 

Jensen can’t sleep. This whole week he’s been out like a light just moments after Jared crawls in beside him but now the bed is empty, and Jensen’s been tossing and turning the whole fucking night in the fucking freezing bed. Honestly _fuc_ k Chad Michael Murray for turning the heat off.

He’s got no clue where Jared is, so he pushes out of bed, pulls on his comfy grey hoodie, with only the intent of getting some hot coffee in his stomach so he can slough through the rest of what is very obviously going to be a long fucking day.

Bleary eyed and sore, he doesn’t even notice the figure in the dark of the kitchen until he’s opened the fridge door. He reacts blindly, throwing the only thing he has in his hand straight at the shadow: a carton of milk that goes bouncing off Jared’s head with a solid _thwack_ before spilling all over the floor.

“Guns are usually more effective if you’re trying to kill your partner,” Jared says wryly. “Though I should warn you, I might shoot back.”

“What the _fuck?_ ” Jensen nearly collapses against the wall with the rush of adrenaline to his head. “It’s five in the morning.”

“Staking out the neighbors and,” Jared gestures at the barely visible mass of yarn in his lap, “Knitting.”

“You knit?” Jensen asks, still catching his breath.

“Sure do.” Jared says, a strange bit of southern twang creeping in to his voice. “My grandma taught me.”

“And you just let her?”

“When I was fifteen I broke my leg,” Jared says slowly. “Real bad break, during basketball practice. Spent the whole summer on the window seat of my Grandma’s house out in Texas, just wishing to God I could go outside, watching the neighbors, watching my friends drive by with their new licenses and cars. Damn near lost my mind.”

“So you took up knitting?” Jensen snatches up the paper towels and begins wiping up the puddle of spilled milk from the tile.

“Gram got so sick of me feeling sorry for myself, she took it upon her to give me something to do with my hands, so I wasn’t all that useless.”

“Let me guess, you made six sweaters and a hat by the end of the summer,” Jensen says from the floor, elbow aching with the scrubbing motion.

“Could barely get halfway through with a scarf,” Jared says with a smile, “But that was owed to something entirely different.”

“And what’s that?”

“Oh, I caught the neighbors in a robbery of other people’s open garages. Spent the whole summer tracking their movements, Rear Window style, got so caught up I’d keep dropping stitches and have to start all over again.”

“You caught your first criminal when you were fifteen?”

“Not too bad for a rookie, huh?”

Jensen leans back against the counter. It occurs to him this is the second time he underestimated his partner. The charm, the self-deprecation, the near joviality of Jared’s work, all belied the fact that underneath he was watching everything. It makes him a damn good partner, the kind people would scrap over to work with. It also makes him an even deadlier enemy. Jensen knows this now.

Jared’s turned back to his knitting, eyes glazed over as he stares out on the dimly lit cul-de-sac, no sound but the soft clicking of his knitting needles.

Jensen stands there, ringing the soggy paper towels in his hands, before he sighs and comes over to the window sill seat as well, plopping down across from Jared and staring out at the empty street.

“No signs of movement,” Jared says softly. Stephen Amell from down the road came out to water his begonias, because they gotta be watered at night, but other than a stray cat wandering through and a few cars, nothing.”

Jensen nods mechanically, mouth twisting around what to say next that doesn’t sound like a completely pathetic and groveling apology, even though that’s honestly what Jared deserves.

“When the bomb went off,” he says slowly, staring out at the street, “It hurt a lot of the guys that I was in charge of. Burns, mostly, thankfully we cleared the majority of the blast range. One of our guys though, fresh out of the academy rookie, Ford, he went down hard. A piece of the bomb embedded in his neck, severed his spinal cord. He can talk, and smile, and move his arms, but he’ll never walk again. He had a wife too, real sweet gal from the Bronx. Named Emma.”

He looks up now, to where Padalecki has stopped knitting and now sits, very still.

“I didn’t lose any men that day, but I memorized all their names, and I have spent months trying to figure out what I’d missed and when I’d missed it, but none of that matters. The point is, I did, and people who weren’t me had to pay the price for my mistake.”

His partner doesn’t blink, expression unreadable.

“And I’m not saying this so you can feel sorry for me. I’m say that every day I’m here, in this goddamn stupid house, I’m thinking about Colin Ford, I’m thinking about his girl Emma, I’m thinking about all the ways that my fuckup has fucked other people up. What I’m saying is I’m good at what I do, and yeah, I get carried away and high on my own ego, sure. But I’m not in this for the guts and glory. You need to know that, and believe me when I say that.”

He could go on, but this is already the most he’s ever talked about himself to anyone that wasn’t an FBI assigned psychiatrist. Jared’s read the file. He knows.

There’s a long pause, as Jared gives him a level headed stare. “Alright. Thank you.”

“That wasn’t an apology.”

“Coming from you it’s the closest thing I’ll get anyway, so thank you.”

“Right.”

Jared nods, before returning back to his knitting. Jensen leans back against the wall, listens to the needles click together.

“What are you knitting?”

Jared shrugs. “I don’t like to plan ahead. I let the yarn lead me.”

“That’s a bit surprising, coming from you.”

“Maybe,” Jared says mysteriously, but the corner of his mouth is tugging into a small smile, and despite himself, Jensen smiles back, glancing down at the floor and feeling a bit odd.

“I think what we’ve got here is a Christmas tree skirt!” Jared says proudly, holding up a lumpy but considerably larger circle than what Jensen had seen when he’d first come in. “Might take a few adjustments, and definitely needs some fringe tassels, but it’ll look great under a douglas fir.”

“And which douglas fir are you referring to?”

“The one we’re going to purchase with the help of Danni and Chris a few weeks before Christmas. They apparently know a great tree lot to go to. ”

Jensen finds himself smiling again, the smile continuing even as he gets up to make the coffee. There’s something strange and light in his chest, and he spends the rest of the morning sipping from his mug and trying to figure out when he got so goddamn soft.

 

\--

 

The across the board success of Jared’s wine night leads to Jared and Jensen inviting the entire block over for Thanksgiving dinner. It was Jensen’s idea, actually, and if Jared was worried everyone would have other plans on such short notice, he needn’t have been, everyone RSVPs in person. But that isn’t what surprises Jared the most. What surprises Jared the most is how Jensen volunteers to cook. _Everything_.

“Tell everyone to bring a bottle of champagne, and that should be enough,” Jensen says, scribbling out a grocery list while Jared throws on his sweater and grabs his car keys. They’ve hardly got 24 hours to get this all together, there’s no _way_ they’re going to make it. “Can you cook?”

“I can…microwave?”

“What does that even mean?”

“I mean, I made eggs. Once.” Jared wrinkles his nose. “They didn’t turn out very good.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be trained in the art of survival? No wonder you’re so skinny.”

“Am not!” Jared scoffs.

Jensen says nothing, just hands him a long list of items to pick up at the grocery store, and kicks him out of the kitchen, closing the door in his face.

The entire shopping trip takes a total of two and a half hours, and Jared thinks he may have maxed out their FBI issued credit card by the time he makes it back to the house, tottering with about fifteen different grocery bags in hand.

Something in the kitchen smells fucking amazing when Jared steps in, and he looks up to find Jensen carmelizing apples in a skillet, nothing but a pair of dirty jeans and a flour marked black shirt to make up for an apron. He looks up at Jared, turning the stove off and jogging over to help Jared unload all the groceries.

“Leave all the frozen stuff out to defrost. Get out that pumpkin, use the can opener and—what the hell is all this?”

Jared looks down at all the bags. “It’s uh… organic?”

Jensen’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the word ‘organic’ but he rolls his eyes and gets to work, hands moving so fast over each food item Jared can barely keep up. He pours the apples into a pie tin that’s already got a crust in it, one that has to be homemade, from the floured look of Jensen’s shirt.

“Where the hell did you learn to cook?” Jared asks, because he’s never seen Jensen so… well, Jared-like, about something. His eyes are focused only on what his hands are doing, and he doesn’t stop moving, constantly checking temperatures and consistencies of all five pots that are currently bubbling on the stove.

“Try this.” Jensen says, ignoring the question, holding a spoonful of steaming pie filling for Jared to take. Sweet cinnamon flavor and buttery caramel with the tang of apples bursts along his taste buds and Jared _moans_ , can’t even remember a time he tasted something so good that wasn’t straight out of a restaurant or bakery.

“Please tell me you’re making at least twelve of those.” He sighs and Jensen laughs, before turning to the massive turkey and beginning to unwrap it.

“No can do, but I promise, you won’t be left hungry.”

“Jensen,” Jared says seriously, “Don’t take this the wrong way but I am in serious danger of falling very deeply in love with you.”

Jensen just rolls his eyes, batting Jared’s hands away from taking another spoonful of apples, and promptly kicking out of the kitchen and telling him to worry about the rest of the set-up and décor, and to go out and buy some chairs and a table leaf so they can squeeze everyone into the living room.

The next twenty four hours are more or less a blur of various savory smells drifting out of the kitchen, Jared sneaking in to pester Jensen for samples, and Jensen beating him away with a wooden spoon. He’s aware of Jensen coming to bed and sleeping for just a few hours, but other than taking a quick shower and changing clothes he’s mostly in the kitchen.

Everyone arrives at around three or so, and Jared’s just as excited as them to see what Jensen brings out.

It’s equal parts amazing and terrifying, what Jensen is manages to pull off. Jared hadn’t been able to tell what exactly his partner was cooking from the looks of the grocery list, but it’s everything one would expect from a gigantic thanksgiving dinner: turkey, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes with bacon and chives, candied yams, sautéed spinach, two different kinds of stuffing, three different kinds of pies, and a bunch of other smaller side dishes, all laid out on the giant long table to the delight of their neighbors and suspects, respectively.

It is without a doubt the best Thanksgiving meal Jared’s ever eaten, and maybe the best meal he’s ever eaten ever.

All twelve of their guests sing Jensen’s praises, and he only smiles humbly, and takes Jared’s hand to twine their fingers together, smiling sweetly.

It’s kind of like someone switched Jared’s grumpy, surly partner out for someone who actually feels happiness. He’s a bit dazed, if he’s being honest, but he squeezes Jensen’s hand back, and returns to listening in on conversations, tuning in and playing host.

Dinner concludes to great success, with everyone leaving practically in comas, and several invitations to join them for Black Friday shopping in the early hours of the morning. Jared agrees enthusiastically, blowing kisses to the girls as they head down the driveway, and wondering if his job is supposed to feel this fun, or he’s been doing it wrong all this time.

The kitchen is, more or less, a complete disaster when Jared enters it. There are splashes of food on the floor, on the walls, even one particular splatter on the ceiling. Jensen stands, shoulders slumped with exhaustion at the sink, holding a plate in his hands and frankly looking like he’s about to fall asleep right in the sudsy dish water.

“Here,” Jared says, quietly taking the plate. “You sit. I’ll clean.”

He half expects Jensen to argue and kick him out of the kitchen, but Jensen just sighs, “Thanks,” And leaves Jared to it, slumping over at the kitchen table, pouring himself one last glass of champagne.

Jared turns to the dish in hand, an odd feeling in his gut. Whatever amount of yelling Jared had done the other night had changed something between them irrevocably. He had expected—demanded, really—that Jensen treat him with more respect, but he hadn’t expected such a drastic change, nor one that made Jensen so willing to help out. He’d cooked an _entire fucking thanksgiving dinner_ , Jared’s pretty sure that’s above his paygrade, even as an FBI agent.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know,” Jared says, grabbing the sponge and lathering it with dish soap. “I mean, I’m grateful you did, but we could have always had a caterer come out—“

“I wanted to,” Jensen grunts, his voice deep and rumbling with exhaustion. “Can’t eat other people’s thanksgiving food anyway. I’m an elitist in that sense.”

“Where’d you learn to cook like that anyhow?”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, coupled with the mass amounts of ingested food, but Jensen’s face is a wide open book right now, and it twists into an expression that Jared can only call a wince of pain, as if an old injury is acting up.

“I was about fifteen or so when the Twin Towers went down in New York City. You know from the file what happened to my dad. My mom didn’t take it so well. She uh--she stopped eating, stopped paying the bills and stopped buying groceries, didn’t really get out of bed. New York was in chaos, but I knew if I went to the police that they’d take me away from her, and I couldn’t-.” Jensen stops, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I had this aunt who lived out in Texas, in the town my mom was from. She drove all the way up—too scared to fly—and spent six months with us. She was a real eccentric, but one helluva a cook, went to culinary school and everything. Learning recipes from her was probably the best happiness I knew back then. Plus, it’s damn useful, living on your own and all. That’s how I learned.”

Jared methodically turns the dish over and rinses it, mind racing. He knew from the file, Jensen’s right, that Mr. Ackles, a respected New York police officer, had been one of the many who had disappeared while saving the lives of others on September 11th. He’d helped evacuate dozens before the Towers collapsed. The file didn’t have much on Mrs. Ackles, so Jared doesn’t ask if Jensen’s mom is okay, if she managed to survive that kind of pain, and Jensen doesn’t offer that information.

“We were always moving around a lot when I was little—military brat.” Jared smirks to himself, reaching for one of the serving dishes, not really sure if Jensen is listening, or even cares, but talking because that’s what you do, at the end of a long day when fatigue loosens your tongue more than it ought to.

“Didn’t make me the most popular kid, but I got plenty good at reading people. I knew how to take to certain situations and thrive against all odds, I could invent myself in a dozen different towns and nobody would know. But I’ve gone my whole life without roots. I can’t cook to save my life, I’ve never had a hometown or a room that felt like my own. I don’t know what it’s like to grow up in one place. My parents made sure of that, liked it even. It became an even better excuse, the moving, when they found out I was gay. But then I turned eighteen and I realized that I didn’t have to move anymore. And they decided that I didn’t have to talk to them anymore either. That’s how I learned. Not to cook, but how to get by with strangers.”

Quietly, so as not to shatter the moment, Jared picks up another dish, keeps the water running. He can feel the intensity of Jensen’s stare, but it’s not something he can bear to look at right now so he focuses on the task at hand, waiting until the moment of vulnerability hardens, retreats within its shell.

“Funny, how the most fucked up people make the best agents,” Jensen says wryly, and Jared smiles in kind.

When the dishes are cleaned and put away and the majority of the kitchen stains have been removed, Jared pokes and prods Jensen up the stairs, promising that the bed is a much softer place of rest than the kitchen table. Jensen changes at lightning speed and lands back on bed, eyes closed before he even hits the pillow.

Jared does the nightly routine and exits the bathroom, stripping down to a t-shirt and boxers and stopping just before he crawls underneath the sheets. In the pale cast of fluorescent light from the bathroom Jensen looks nearly angelic, long eyelashes fluttering lightly in sleep, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks making him seem far younger than when he sat at the kitchen table earlier. There’s a bit of flour in his hair and he’s wearing that one really soft grey hoodie that looks amazing on him, but it’s the unguarded expression of his face that really gets Jared, like a sucker punch to the gut.

“I’m in trouble,” He sighs to himself, slipping between the sheets and flicking off the light.

If he falls asleep trying to make out Jensen’s silhouette in the darkness, nobody has to know about it.

 

\--

 

The investigation moves forward, even if at a snail’s pace.

Chad—under the guise of an electrician—places bugs in the kitchen of each household on the cul-de-sac following the success of the Thanksgiving dinner. Jared and Jensen make a slightly awkward but nonetheless thorough collection of their observations of the neighbors—anything that might help draw up a psychological profile, and continue their general routine of socializing whenever possible. Jared goes to morning yoga with Vicki and Misha and Jensen goes golfing with Chris and Gabe, each of them holding their own by way of contribution to the investigation, even if most of it is yielding a fat load of absolutely nothing.

Jared had thought that after Thanksgiving things would start to heat up, but apart from low-key stakeouts and suburban-ite social activities, not a thing happens throughout the entire first week of December.

They grow bored very quickly, and the inventive for entertainment grows even quicker.

 

\--

 

“I can’t believe this, Jared says, appalled. “Who the hell mixes their darks and their whites!”

“Laundry is laundry!” Jensen snaps. “I’ve done this my whole life and it’s never any difference to me!”

“I suppose you just don’t use fabric softener, either.”

“What’s fabric softener?” Jensen asks with a stupid grin, cowering as Jared whacks him over the head with a dirty sock.

“Move over.” Jared elbows him out of the way. They’re both standing at the washing machines in their boxers, it’s a Sunday morning and they’ve got nothing better to do than bicker about the laundry. “And you better hope for your sake that my shirts don’t turn pink because someone decided to stick their USC hoodie in with them.”

“You realize that if we get married, our laundry is gonna end up together most of the time anyhow?” Jensen grins.

“Guess it’s time to call the engagement off, then.” Jared sticks his tongue out, and Jensen ducks another sock, laughing harder than he meant to, unable to help it.

 

\--

 

“Jensen? Babe?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Do we have a ladder?”

“Should be. Check the garage.”

“Right.”

“…”

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear heart?”

“What the fuck do you need the ladder for anyhow?”

“…”

“Jared?”

“Don’t you worry about it!” Jared yells then slams the front door.

Half an hour later, when Jensen hears tramping feet on the roof of the house and sees several long extension cords dangling over the wall, he decides he really doesn’t want to know.

 

\--

 

There is only one person who may actually love Christmas and the Holiday spirit more than Jared, and that’s Chris Evans.

Jensen likes Chris a lot, he’s a great guy, but this might actually break the straw on the camel’s back for him, because the world, and certainly not the neighborhood, does not need two sets of overzealous Christmas fanatics.

He returns from his early morning run to see Jared on their rooftop, and Chris on his, both of them stringing up lights at ridiculous speeds with increasing franticness.

“He’s been up there since eight this morning,” Chris’s wife says in an exasperated tone, but she’s smiling, and Jensen kind of relates to the feeling. “I’ve been out here for hours watching, like some kind of tennis match. I didn’t think there could possibly be anyone who loved Christmas more than my husband, but I guess there’s time to be wrong about anything.”

“This isn’t going to end well,” Jensen mutters out of the corner of his mouth. “Jared hates losing.”

“I think they’re actually betting money on who has the better lights display,” Hayley says, lifting her mimosa and sipping evenly. “I’m not quite sure I’m willing to let this go on any further.”

“Ha!” Jared crows from the rooftop, before plugging one cord into another. There’s a brief pause, and then the entire house goes up in lights, disorienting a bit in their brightness. “Take that! In your face Evans!”

“You’ll never take me alive, Forrester!” Chris screams, and then punches in his lights display as well.

The two of them are shouting obscenities at one another in mutual delight as Hayley looks over at Jensen, slyly. “You bagged quite a keeper there.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, watching Jared dance back and forth on the roof like a madman. “Sure did.”

 

 

Jensen will never admit this to himself or anyone, but he sleeps better in their freezing cold unheated bed when Jared’s in it with him, rather than downstairs staking out or listening to the recordings from their neighbors’ kitchens for any clues.

They don’t even touch, apart from the occasional accidental shoulder brush or knee bump. But going to sleep cold and waking up warm with body heat next to him is the strangest and probably creepiest comfort Jensen’s ever known, and he finds himself looking forward to it terribly at the end of most days.

 

\--

 

“You know what, honey?” Jensen says with mock sincerity, leaning out the window with the listening device in. “If I have to listen in on one more couple arguing over how to make a goddamn Vegan Lentil Casserole one more goddamn time, I might actually drive down to the nearest beachside cliff and throw myself off of it.”

Jared laughs, ducking his head down and resuming kneading the massive ball of dough. Their kitchen is absolutely covered in flour, again, but this time Jensen is calmly giving instructions and tips from the side while Jared does most of the work (it’s agreed upon that he won’t be going anywhere near the ovens, but Jensen can at least let him knead the damn dough).

The investigation pretty much yields nothing, just a lot of boring talk over coffee and meals in their neighbors’ kitchens. By the end of the second week of December, Jared pitches the idea that they host another wine night with the girls, only now, they bake and drink wine.

“What are you watching?” Jensen removes his headphones and ambles over to where Jared’s got his computer pulled up, a movie playing softly from the small screen.

“It’s a Wonderful Life.” Jared answers, digging his thumbs into the dough. “James Stewart, Donna Reed, and the general backdrop of Christmas. A classic.”

“I’ve always been more of a Die Hard fan myself. My favorite movie, actually. Way better than this crap.” Jensen says, and Jared bumps his shoulder.

“No dissing Jimmy Stewart in this household mister.”

“Fine,” Jensen huffs. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a man who has a particularly bad day on Christmas Eve and thinks about killing himself, so an angel goes and shows him what life would be like if he had never been born, how terrible things would be, and how good his life actually is. It’s a real tear jerker.”

“Whatever you say.” Jensen rolls his eyes, before frowning at Jared’s hands. “Wait, stop. You’re doing it wrong.”

Jared looks down at the dough, “No I’m not, it’s—“

“Here,” and before Jared can protest or elbow him away, Jensen’s behind Jared’s back and covering his hands with his, pressing both into the dough and kneading down then up, a circular motion to the wrist.

“Dough is breakable. You want to bend it, not break it,” Jensen says softly, his voice right behind Jared’s ear, ruffling his hair and tickling his neck, causing chills to race down Jared’s spine. It takes every ounce of focus in him not to audibly shiver. “C’mon. Go slow, then ease up, press down, then ease up. Good. Good.”

His hands are rough, callused from guns and weights, but they are gentle over Jared’s hands and though Jared is going through the motions of kneading the dough as Jensen instructs, he can feel his insides twisting up in knots at the feeling of Jensen, close and warm and right behind him.

He should be used to it by now. Jensen’s kissed his cheek, held his hand, whispered sweet nothings in his ear, at least a hundred times over in the past week—but always in the company of people, always under the guise of proving something to everyone else. Jensen rarely, if ever, touches Jared just for Jared’s sake.

What would Jensen do, Jared wonders, if he just turned around until his cheek accidentally brushed Jensen’s lips? What would he say? Or would it all just be part of playing the game?

And then, as quick as it’s started, Jensen’s stepping back, snatching a bit of the dough and popping it into his mouth with a cheeky smile. Jared shakes his head, half to scold Jensen and half to clear it of the fog that had drifted into it, and turns back to the laptop, watching James Stewart and Donna Reed talk romance on the screen.

“Oh, by the way.” Jared snaps his fingers, not brave enough to look directly at Jensen. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“I want nothing. And you better not get me anything,” Jensen swears.

“The neighbors will talk…”

“I mean it, Jared...”

“Fine. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

“Good,” Jensen grouses. “Because I’m not getting you anything either.”

“Perfect,” Jared says, head now cleared of any illusions that something intimate just happened in the kitchen between him and his partner. “Let’s get the cookie cutters and get to work, shall we?”

 

\--

 

Wine night number two and bake-off number one is an absolute hit. Jensen’s running the ovens all night, nowhere near ready to let Jared handle the oven. The women of the cul-de-sac all sit around the kitchen, swapping mixing bowls and bags of flower, singing along to Christmas carols and good _god_ how they gossip. Jensen’s never heard such a free and open room of people, swapping sex stories and breakup stories, talking about their husbands, and their problems with their husbands. In the span of a half an hour and multiple batches of baked goods, Jensen overhears Danni talking about how her and Chris and her are trying to have kids, and she’s ovulating, he hears Sandy talk about how she’s worried Justin might be cheating on her with one of his college students, and even Vicki, who usually maintains a rather composed air, is laughing, telling stories of the time Misha broke his tailbone and couldn’t have sex for _weeks_.

For a brief moment of time, their kitchen is full of happy, talkative women, and two very busy FBI Agents, committing all information to memory in case it might turn out to be important later down the road. Jensen finds himself grinning at Jared over Katie’s head, seated somewhere among the blondies and brownies. They’re doing it, they’re actually pulling off this whole undercover thing, earning the neighbors trust, the whole shebang. It makes Jensen almost giddy, and he nearly laughs when Jared winks.

Sandy sighs at the exchange. “You guys make love seem so easy.”

“Do we?” Jared coos, walking over so Jensen can lean up and kiss him, one of his hands tucking into Jensen’s jean pocket.

“When you have a bad day, you go home and you talk to your partner, and it’s the same language.” Katie says ruefully. “We’ve gotta get a translator to understand half the things that guys say.”

“What’s the secret to understanding men?” Alona asks, cheeks flushed with wine, and mixing another batch of cookies. “Will one of you please tell us?”

With the spotlight suddenly on them, Jensen finds himself stammering, because he knows fuck-all about men in regards to relationships but then—

Then he feels Jared’s hand, which has somehow moved from his jeans pocket to wrap loosely around his hips, thumb stroking softly along his flank. It’s barely enough movement to be considered anything even remotely significant, and up until this point Jensen would have thought nothing of it, but that simple, innocent, very staged touch suddenly brings an awareness of Jensen’s own body that he didn’t have before. An awareness of him, and an awareness of Jared.

The entire room suddenly feels tight, like the air molecules are crowding together and heating up. That thumb just keeps on stroking along the scant square inch of fabric of Jensen’s Henley, and he feels raw and inexplicably young in ways he hadn’t since his very first crush.

“I’ve got nothing,” Jared says honestly. “You?”

Jensen doesn’t know one fucking thing about love, but he somehow manages to pull an answer out of his ass anyway.

“You listen to them,” Jensen says simply. “Guys aren’t always as obtuse as you’d think. Sometimes they just want to be heard, and yeah, they get stupid and bullheaded about certain things but I think at the end of the day, a good guy just wants to know you’re listening, that you’re on their team.”

When Jared smiles, and the dimples in his cheeks show, Jensen is unable to resist leaning forward and planting his mouth on one of them, without a single clue how to stop himself. He pulls back, and there’s an odd glaze in Jared’s eyes, but the moment is too quickly interrupted for Jensen to wonder what it all means.

“That must be it then,” Vicki says evenly, her dark hair swept up in a messy bun, “ _You two_ have snatched up the only good guys left.”

The women howl again and pour more wine, and Jared goes back over to join then, leaving Jensen feeling suddenly adrift at sea. Vicki Collins could very well be right.

 

\--

 

“I don’t think I can eat another cookie ever again,” Jared groans, yawning flat out on the couch and drumming on his tummy. “I’m so full I could die.”

“Well you better get used to it,” Jensen says. “After all, they left all the baked goods for you to finish off, anyhow.”

This is very much true. The kitchen is now covered in platters of every kind of baked good imaginable. As enthusiastic and sweet-savvy as the women of the neighborhood are, most of them declined taking their baked goods home, saying the temptation to eat them all in one sitting and completely ruin their various vegan and clean eating diets was too much. Only Hayley took a platter of cupcakes, winking and saying her figure could go to hell in a hand basket, for all she cared. (“ _After all, it is the Holidays._ ”)

So they’ve got tons of cookies, and Jensen can’t be sure what is from whom or what it’s going to taste like, wrapped perfectly.

Jared, despite claiming he’s about to die from his stomach distending, reaches over to an untouched platter and takes a bite of the cookie. Jensen just sighs, knowing there’s no point in trying to stop him, and heads over to the reclining chair, leaning back and closing his eyes to think for a moment.

Even with a wealth information, Jensen still is having trouble getting to figure out which of their neighbors is running a drug deal straight out of his basement. He wonders if the call they’d traced to this area was possibly a red herring. Maybe the dealer had just been in the neighborhood at the time, on the block, but didn’t actually live there. They could have been barking up the wrong tree this entire time and not even know it. But at the same time, Cortese isn’t an idiot, annoying though she may be. There has to be something they’re missing, some vital detail. Or, maybe these guys are just that good at staying under the radar. Whatever the reason, he and Jared are going to have to kick it up a notch.

“Jensen.”

“What?” Jensen opens his eyes, unsure of how many minutes have passed, to find Jared still on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Jensennnnnnnn.”

“ _What_ Jared?”

“I feel,” Jared chews his words a bit, his speech sounding mashed, like he’s got a mouthful of something. “Jensen, I feel funny.”

“Probably a bit too much sugar and wine. I told you not to keep eating cookies.”

“No, _Jensen_ , I feel funny,” Jared says, and then begins to giggle to himself.

“You are funny,” Jensen replies, pointedly.

“Shut up,” Jared slurs, before standing up and walking over to Jensen staring down at him. “God, don’t you ever just…”

“Just what?” Jensen asks, not meaning to sound so breathless, because Jared’s not even doing anything.

“Just.” Jared blinks like an owl, sways a bit, and then promptly craws right onto Jensen’s lap.

“Woah there.” Jensen holds off Jared, who’s making silly kissy faces and looming over him. “I didn’t know you had that much wine, Jesus. I told you to take it easy. Let’s get some water into you, shall we you big lush?”

“But I didn’t drink?” Jared says, confused and pouting, answering in questions. “I didn’t have any alcohol?” He then goes to kiss Jensen’s face again.

“Honestly what the fuck is up with you? Knock it off!” Jensen snaps. “No one’s here, Jared, you don’t have to do this.”

“And if I want to?” Jared pants, color high in his cheeks, an odd look in his eyes. But not the same look from earlier, his eyes actually look odd, like the shape or color of them has changed and—

Jared’s trying to kiss him again when his hand shoots out and grabs Jared’s chin, tilting it down so he can get a better look. They’re that same brilliant hazel, the color Jensen didn’t really notice or appreciate until a few hours ago, only now the pupil is fully dilated, the kind of doe-eyed look that only shows up on someone who is very, very high.

Adrenaline kicks in and if Jensen had a gun on him, he’d draw it on principle.

“Thought I told you not to have any more cookies,” Jensen says. “What were you eating anyway?”

Jared gestures at the once full now nearly half-empty tray on the coffee table, and lunges for Jensen’s mouth again. Jensen doesn’t mean to respond the way he does, but he throws his forearm up against Jared’s throat anyway, the force of the collision sending them flying back in the recliner chair and tumbling out again.

“Oh yeah, baby, love it rough!” Jared groans, his limbs tangled and over his head, bursting into laughter.

Jared’s fucking high as a kite, and apparently horny too. Fuck Cortese, for saying they weren’t even going to have contact with the drugs. Someone, one of the women, one of the neighbors, had dosed their ‘gifted’ batch of cookies to Jared and Jensen, hoping one of them would get high out of their mind.

Jensen leaps up and grabs the offending tray of cookies and puts it above the fireplace to check it out later. He runs upstairs, leaving a cackling Jared in a heap on the rug, and pulls open his underwear drawer. He’s managed to avoid it thus far, but he can’t go on much longer. He pulls out the earpiece from his one lonely sock and tucks it in to his left ear, knowing Chad will be able to see him doing so, and get on the intercom.

“Well well well, if it isn’t Mr. Jensen Assckles himself.”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before.” Jensen rolls his eyes, heading downstairs. “Are you seeing the shit in the living room?”

“I was busy debriefing Cortese, what’s up?”

“One of our neighbors gave us a dosed batch of cookies. I’m pretty sure it’s Mistletoe. Jared must have eaten six, if not more, cookies. He’s high off his ass.”

“Motherfucking—I _told_ him not to eat things that come from unknown sources,” Chad swears, sighing. “What is he doing right now?”

“Honestly?” Jared looks at Jensen, who appears to be getting sexual pleasure just by stroking his hands over the carpet, moaning gratuitously. “I have no fucking idea.”

“And he ate how many cookies?”

“Definitely half the plate,” Jensen says evenly, “If not more.”

“You’ll need to make him upchuck,” Chad groans. “If he ingests all those cookies, it could overdose him, or fuck him up for days, and we need you two on your toes. So get him in the bathroom and get to it.”

Jensen can’t believe his fucking luck.

He can’t decide which is worse, the long trek up the stairs with Jared’s groping, giggly ass, or the visit to the bathroom with whiny, near-teary Jared, who doesn’t seem to understand why he has to throw up to survive.

It ain’t pretty, Jensen having to pin Jared down in the shower and shove fingers down his throat a couple times, but eventually Jared’s gag reflex kicks in. He coughs up cookies in a fantastically horrific display of green and red cookie dough, spattered along the shower floor.

“If I make it through this mission with both your dumb asses alive,” Chad says, “I’m asking for a fucking raise.”

Jensen ignores him, rinsing Jared off and pulling him out of the shower, sopping wet and still clothed, sniffling tearfully.

“Jensen,” he says slowly, “I feel—“

“Funny. Yeah. I know,” Jensen grouses, before going to fetch Jared’s pajamas and a towel.

Jared continues to interpret Jensen’s methodical strip-down and dress-up of his person as a come-on, and the attempts at kisses and groping continue, much to Jensen’s chagrin and Chad’s delight. He tries to focus on the task—keeping Jared safe—rather than Jared’s warm body, and heated skin, the lithe and lanky tone along his frame that Jensen never thought to notice before. And noticing it now only serves to make Jensen feel like an even bigger perv, because Jared’s vulnerable right now. Giggling and unaware of his state and still completely vulnerable.

“The drug can induce some pretty nasty night terrors if you sleep on it,” Chad says. “You’re going to want to make him drink a big ass glass of water, and probably not leave him until tomorrow morning.”

“Is this you speaking as Chad the medical expert, or Chad who’s Jared’s best friend?”

“Both,” Chad says evenly. “As long as you act like a gentleman and don’t try to get into his pants, I’m cool with it—“

“Fuck you. I wouldn’t—“

“I saw the way you were looking at him, Ackles,” Chad says, and it’s not so much bitchy as it is matter of fact. “You wouldn’t. But don’t try to tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Jensen flounders for a bit, only to find that Jared has left the bathroom, and is now rustling through Jensen’s drawers unannounced. He pulls out a grey hoodie, slipping it over his bare torso and grinning.

“I loooove this shirt,” Jared grins, giggling and tripping his way over to the bed in nothing but boxers and Jensen’s shirt. “I’m taking it.”

And there it is, again, that tightness of air molecules. Jared is wearing Jensen’s shirt, sharing Jensen’s clothes. It’s a boundary they haven’t really crossed before, save for the occasional mixed sock. But Jared’s sitting on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, completely dazed, in Jensen’s shirt and suddenly, Jensen’s never been more turned on in his life.

“Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Chad says. “Sayonara, bitch.” The comms click off.

Jensen moves towards the bed like Jared in the hoodie is the siren’s call, and gets in, passing Jared the glass of water he’d filled in the bathroom. Jared gulps it down, parched, then, at the realization that he’s not alone, throws his arms around Jensen full force.

“You’re so great Jensen. You’re just… you’re _great_. And I feel so _great_.” He wraps his limbs all he tighter around Jensen’s torso, burying his face in Jensen’s shoulder.

“Okay buddy, time to go to sleep.”

“Or…” Jared smiles. “We could do other things…” He rolls his hips against Jensen’s.

Jensen shoots out of bed. “Absolutely not. Sleep.”

“But I’m not tired!”

“You are. It’s just the drugs talking.”

“Drugs? What? But Jensen I feel funny.” Jared pouts.

“If you sleep, you won’t feel funny anymore.”

Jared sighs, reaching, and with great hesitation, Jensen climbs back in the bed, letting Jared take his hand and play with it, the gesture innocent.

“I think you’re great,” Jared says.

“I know you do.”

“No, but I think you’re _really_ great.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Like,” Jared raises his head off the pillow so it’s close to Jensen’s. The foxish slant of his eyes spells nothing but trouble, but the pure hazel speaks of earnestness, innocence. It’s an odd combination, and Jensen’s insides twist.

Jared leans forward and whispers in Jensen’s ear, like it’s top secret. “Like if we were really married, it’d be the coolest thing ever. Because you’re cool. And I’m cool. And we’d be cool together.”

Something in Jensen’s chest cracks open at that statement, juvenile and simplified as it is. It may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him.

But before he can respond, Jared’s head slumps on the pillow, and he begins to snore. Jensen makes to get up and change but—as if an invisible force is bringing him to semi-consciousness—Jared wraps his arms and legs around Jensen, pulling him close not unlike an octopus. It gives Jensen a full up close and personal view of his long eyelashes, the mole on his cheek, the plush pink of his mouth, even as it begins to drool in earnest.

Again, witnessing this feels like intruding on something vulnerable, so Jensen closes his eyes against it, tries not to think about what it all means, and forces himself to drift off into sleep.

He’d hoped it’d be a restless night, what with Jared’s limbs and general suffocating him, but Jensen sleeps like a baby.

 

\--

 

It’s been a weird morning for Jared.

For starters, he wakes up spooning with Jensen Ackles. Like my-ass-against-your-pelvis spooning. For the first few minutes of alertness, it makes Jared feel safe, and warm, even if he’s sure Jensen’s going to strangle him by the time he wakes up, seeing as the unspoken no-touching rule had been a thing up until this point. Jared thinks, for a few minutes, that he wouldn’t mind waking up like this more often, with Jensen’s chest pressed to his back, his heartbeat audible, mouth loosely pressed against Jared’s shoulder. It’s the kind of intimate tangle that Jared misses most about relationships, but even with prior experience, it’s never felt as good as this.

And what’s weirder, is that Jensen doesn’t seem to _mind_. When Jared tries to shift out of his arms, arrange his limbs in a position that’s not so incriminating, Jensen just grunts sleepily, and pulls Jared closer. It’s weird, this is all weird, which leads Jared to discovery number three.

“Gah!” Jared shouts, scrambling up from the bed and looking down at himself. Jensen’s grey hoodie—and Jared’s favorite article of clothing maybe in this whole world because of how good it looks on him—now hangs from Jared’s frame, big and comfortable and most decidedly _not_ his.

“What is it?” Jensen lifts his head, looking sleepy and… not his usual murderous self, come mornings.

“What happened last night?” Jared asks, horrified.

Jensen sits up, heels of his palms digging into his eyes as he rubs and wakes himself up. “Neighbors, dunno who, dosed one of the cookie batches with Mistletoe. You got a bit loopy, but it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I didn’t… do anything?”

“Apart from raid my dresser drawer and throw up in the shower,” Jensen says pointedly, finally lifting his head, and freezing.

There are two types of looks that Jared has received from his partner at this point in the game, and neither one of them is particularly heated. There’s the quick and calculating ‘What are you’ look, that he usually gets when Jensen’s sizing him up, trying to suss him out as a potential threat (that look comes less and less often every day), and then there’s the quicker, more comforting look of trust (that look comes more and more often every day).

And then there’s how Jensen’s looking at him now.

It’s not the probing curiosity of when they first met, Jensen trying to figure out if he’s worth his salt. It’s slower, a deliberate drag up and down Jared’s body that’s as sexy as it is terrifying. Jensen’s gaze lingering around Jared’s torso, specifically, where he’s got the hoodie zipped up to his sternum, revealing a sizeable patch of skin. The look is outright possessive, and Jared’s always known that some guys have this weird thing about significant others wearing their clothes, but he’s never understood it until know, feeling both exposed and kind of turned on as Jensen looks his fill.

After last night, sitting in a kitchen full of jealous women whispering to Jared about how hot and great his boyfriend is, Jared doesn’t know that he can take much more of this weird charge between him and Jensen, equal parts trust and friendship, electric charge and unnamed tension.

“I’m getting in the shower,” Jared says quickly, and flees the room. “Come in in ten minutes, we’ll call Cortese and report everything.”

 

\--

 

The shower and debrief call doesn’t really do much to dissipate the awkwardness, but they do get three things agreed upon.

  1. The drug dealers are onto them, without a doubt.
  2. They have to host the Christmas Party for the entire block, and see if they can try and catch any snoops around.
  3. It is no longer possible to pretend that they’re not showering absolutely naked together.



Jensen still steals Jared’s shampoo and hogs the hot water and Jared still takes for fucking _ever_ with conditioning his hair, but the autopilot routine they’ve set up over the weeks of showering together has been ruined by the simple fact of body awareness, that was not so there before.

Or, maybe it was, Jensen muses, pointedly _not_ looking at Jared’s ass as he lathers up and washes his armpits. Maybe Jensen’s had a huge fucking hard on for his partner from the very beginning—tall, sweet, bright eyed Jared—this whole time, and was just too fucking stubborn to realize it.

He steels his thoughts away from Jared’s ass, and focuses instead on the next hurdle they’re going to have to tackle. Christmas Parties first, big stupid crushes later.

 

\--

 

“I can’t believe this,” Jared mutters around a grin, trying his damndest not to laugh but absolutely failing. “You have a license to kill, and here you are, having a meltdown over coupons at Whole Foods.”

Fluorescent lights rain down on them, and though the skies outside are gloomy, Jared’s feeling practically giddy with delight as he watches what looks to be a complete temper tantrum in the works on Jensen’s face, and all because Jared made the polite suggestion that they buy organic for the Christmas party.

“I don’t do this chemical-free shit! I’ve never been to an organic market in my life! And why does there have to be _coupons_ for fuck’s sake?”

Jared laughs, because he’s not sure he’s quite seen anything as funny as Jensen Ackles in the grocery store, sifting through his Ziploc bag of cut out coupons and cursing to himself, as if couponing were actual, physical torture.

“I don’t need to be couponing to afford groceries, I get paid way too much to anyhow. This is fucking humiliating!”

It’s endearing is what it is, Jensen red faced and swearing in frustration, throwing shit in the cart willy-nilly before taking it out after remembering that he’s supposed to be getting the things that have coupons. It’s a bit like watching a bull in a china shop, Jensen trying to shop healthy, which makes Jared shudder to think how unhealthily Jensen probably eats when he’s not working a case.

He leans forward, slipping a casual arm around Jensen’s shoulders and grinning ear to ear as he whispers conspiratorially in his ear. “I believe they call it ‘playing the part’.”

Jensen’s head snaps up at that, a look of surprise on his face, and Jared hadn’t realized how close he’d leaned until they’re wide eyed and blinking at each other, almost nose to nose. There’s a moment, Jared thinks if he’d blinked he would have missed it, where Jensen’s mouth parts and he inhales sharply, but then it’s over just as soon as it began, Jensen tossing a smirk over his shoulder as he reaches to take the frozen peas out of the cart and put them on the cashier’s conveyor belt.

Jared helps him line up all their items, lost in thought. It’s been a conscious choice up until this point not to get physically close to one another unless the situation truly demands it, making the active choice of subtlety with the physical part of their relationship in public. But Jared finds the more time he spends with Jensen, the less it feels like a chore to touch, to lean, to be close to Jensen in any proximity. The more he knows Jensen, the less this whole debacle feels like a charade at all.

He’s spent his entire life blending in when the situation calls for it. He’s never met a person he couldn’t get to like him, never had a problem modifying parts of himself to fit in. Even after the nastiness of high school, the awkward social climbing of college, he’d had to do it in the FBI. The only person Jared’s never acted for is Chad, but that has more to do with the fact that Chad is one of those rare breeds that sees through any bullshit regardless, so there was no point even trying to put up a front with him. Even after meeting Chad, though, who was Jared’s best and really only true friend, Jared’s always been too much of a people pleaser to not lie for other peoples’ comfort.

That isn’t the case with Jensen, though.

Sorting through the coupons and getting the Holiday discounts on their extremely expensive organic food takes another half hour total, with several interventions by the store manager and one near-shouting match between Jensen and the very agitated cashier. It’s enough that Jared is nearly in tears of laughter by the time they leave the Whole Foods, lagging behind Jensen, who is cursing a blue streak, grocery bags in hand.

“I don’t think I’ve anyone see anyone turn that red before in my life,” Jared wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes as he shuts the trunk and heads for the driver’s seat. “I didn’t know it was possible, Jesus Christ.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jensen snaps, but his lips are twitching, and then he’s laughing too, quieter than Jared, more embarrassed, but with a wide smile, and a rueful shake of his head. They sit like that for a while in the front seat of the car, laughing with the engine idling, and Jared has this weird revelatory moment that this… this goes beyond being comfortable and honest in the same way that Jared is comfortable and honest with Chad. Jared loves the shit out of Chad, but even at their very best moments of friendship Chad has never made Jared feel like this; like he’s the funniest person in the world, like the simple fact of him was enough to warrant his company. Friendship with Chad is easy, sometimes a well needed amount of fun and support, but Chad never makes Jared feel like he is, for lack of a better word, special.

“Fuck,” Jensen says a few moments later, leaning back against the headrest. “Even if we get through with this mission, I am going to get written up so many times with Human Resources for Bedside Manner.”

“Not your strongest suit, I’ll say that.”

Jensen turns over at Jared, lips pulled into a small smile that Jared would argue is almost _fond_. Chad has never looked at Jared like that. Not ever. And that’s probably because friends don’t look at other friends like that. Because it is a look that is decidedly different than friendly.

“Yeah, but that’s what I’ve got you for. To smooth out my rockier edges, right?”

It’s started to rain outside of the car, the pitter patter of El Nino matching pace with Jared’s thundering heart, and he suddenly wants, more than anything, for Jensen to mean it. For Jensen not to be saying something that’s so clearly scripted and rehearsed.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, settling for a smirk and a shrug as his answer, cranking the volume up on the car radio and belting his heart out to Mariah Carey the whole way home. Jensen whines and complains the whole way home, but Jared swears he can hear the quiet rumble of Jensen’s baritone humming along to _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ by the time they pull into the driveway.

 

\--

 

And just like that, the first three weeks of December fly by in a blink. Jared and Jensen manage to keep busy enough. There isn’t necessarily enough intel to report back to Gen, but they still do their best to weasel their way into the hearts of their neighbors.

It’s almost too easy, how this humdrum community of people is so quick to welcome Jared and Jensen, obviously bored out of their minds and hoping for a change of pace. The women all love Jared, laugh at his off the wall jokes, but what’s even more, the guys all like Jared too. When it’s invitations for Sundays at the golf course, it’s Jared the guys come looking for, even though Jensen is of course welcome to come along. Jensen’s even seen, on one or more occasion, a few of the husbands eyeing Jared’s body as he comes jogging down the stairs in his running shorts, or bends over to lift something in the kitchen.

Everyone adores the hell out of Jared and lately, Jensen can’t even blame them for it. There is something about Jared that makes it impossible not to adore him.

It’s strange to think back to a month ago—has it only been a month?—that Jensen was swearing there was something off about Jared, something that made Jensen’s gut twist, a sure sign of untrustworthiness.

But now, Jensen gets that gut twist nearly every day, almost every time Jared smiles at him.

Jensen’s gut had been trying to tell him something. He just thought it was the wrong kind of something.

Maybe that’s the thing that makes this all the more poignant. Jensen Ackles doesn’t do crushes, doesn’t even do boyfriends, not really. Not for a lack of trying, just not really finding someone he liked well enough to want to be around that much. The people he has dated usually walked out before Jensen could even tell them whether they should go, too tired of a guy that didn’t text back and was often so used to being on his own he didn’t feel the need to share his time and space with someone else.

Yet somehow, _somehow_ , Jared came in and broke rules that Jensen didn’t even know he had set for himself, and he found himself in this constant state of aching. He didn’t truly understand the word ‘crush’ until now, the bruise-tender affection that made everything a little bit more bittersweet where his partner was concerned.

Somewhere along the line, Jared became his best friend. And somewhere along that line, Jared became something even more, whether he was aware of it or not.

Truthfully, it’s hard to figure out where the business and personal begin and end. Jared and Jensen do _everything_ together, as par for the course on this mission, but as with every cover, they’ve been under so long sometimes Jensen has to shake his waterlogged head and remind himself that none of this is real, that as soon as they catch the Green Gang, he and Jared will part ways, never to be in these sort of circumstances again.

And yet Jensen can pretend, sometimes, that this is real. He can wake up in the morning, and elbow Jared in the ribs as they brush their teeth, grinning foamy and wide at each other in the mirror. He can go downstairs and make breakfast, because if he lets Jared cook food again, for all they know the house will burn down. They can spend a whole hour doing laundry together, bickering over the merits of separating darks and whites, and Jared can throw his stray socks at Jensen’s head and Jensen can push Jared around the house in the laundry basket like he’s five years old rather than twenty five. They can go grocery shopping and Jensen can pretend not to notice when Jared sneaks gummy worms into the back of the shopping card just before they go to the check-out counter. They can share long nights where Jared knits by the window with half his attention on the street and the other on Jensen. They can wake up together and shower together, and even though it’s stilted and awkward and they really can’t make eye contact, they talk about random inane things, cracking jokes to deflate the weird tension.

They can do all these things, and in those moments, the solace of privacy and moments where their job doesn’t feel so much like a job, Jensen can close eyes and it’s all real.

It’s a Tuesday evening and their Christmas Eve party. At Cortese’s special request, they bring Chad in on the evening, and finally put their tiny earpieces to use.

It’s probably a good idea, seeing as Chad has eyes and ears all over the house, except for the fact that it’s the worst idea in the fucking world, because Chad has got to be the most annoying human in the history of this earth.

“I can hear that, you know,” Chad says, just as Jensen voices his opinion aloud to Jared, who chuckles, and then returns to pulling his sweater over his head. They’ve got just a few minutes until the party gets underway and Jensen, naturally, is already having second thoughts. Especially when he sees the outfit Jared picked out for him.

“Whose idea was it to make this an Ugly Sweater party, anyhow?”

“Mine,” Jared says proudly, fastening on a reindeer antler headband that comes complete with jingle-bells, and then yanking a bright red Santa hat onto Jensen’s head. His sweater has a Christmas tree, with built in blinking lights for the ornaments, and truth be told, Jensen’s isn’t much better, a large knitted red-nosed reindeer over the bright green front. “Now shut up, and get in the Christmas spirit.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, but obliges, straightening the Santa hat on his head.

“Alright,” Jared says, a determined look on his face. “Mission objectives for tonight. Go.”

“Do we have to have objectives? Can’t we just enjoy the party and see where it takes us?”

“We could, except for the fact that Cortese is expecting some actual results after tonight, so we better hope—“

“Honey,” Jensen says pointedly, cupping Jared’s shoulders and rubbing some warmth into them. “Relax. You’ve planned this thing into the ground, and I’ve baked the entire Whole Foods Market downstairs. Breathe. Have fun. Let the intel come to us.”

It’s one of many times in the past few days that Jensen has touched Jared without people around, but he hasn’t got time to question it. They’ve got a party to host, a drug dealer to catch, and a Chad to pointedly ignore.

“We hold the reigns on this whole thing,” Jensen says, wrapping an arm around Jared as they head down the stairs and for the door. “What could go wrong?”

“Famous last words…” Chad warns, and Jensen tries to squelch the feeling that he’s probably right.

 

\--

 

All in all, the party is a complete success.

Until it absolutely falls to shit.

Jensen’s not exactly sure how it happens. One minute he’s watching the room like a hawk, engaging in conversation, waiting to see if anyone goes snooping, and the next he’s being sucked into the general force of gaiety, made to sing along to Christmas carol karaoke (when the hell did Jared buy a machine?) and play White Elephant (he steals the bottle of tequila from Chris Kane, sure he’s going to use it as soon as the case is over) and mixes and serves spiked eggnog and other various Christmas-related drinks to anyone who wants one.

Chad’s been mostly quiet in his ear the whole night, apart from the occasional snide comment every time Jensen so much as looks at Jared. It’s not that Chad is an asshole, but rather that Chad has a very opinionated sense of what Jensen wants, and Chad seems to think it’s his best friend.

“Look man, all I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been following you two around for weeks now, and you know what? I’m not an idiot, I know when something is going on—“

“Shut _up_ , Chad,” Jensen growls in the bathroom mirror. “Before I walk two blocks over to your van and shut you up myself.”

It’s a lame threat at best, but it does the trick. Chad goes quiet, and Jensen tries not to think about how he’s most definitely right this time.

Jared, tonight more than ever, is the literal embodiment of Christmas cheer, smiling and laughing and making everyone in the room just as happy as he seems. And it kills Jensen, it really fucking kills him, because Jared’s kind of stupidly perfect and Jensen feels stupidly foolish for taking so long to admit it, to admit how much enjoys having Jared around, because Jared makes even the worst situations—from grocery store breakdowns to laundry days to crappy Christmas parties—the best ones.

It occurs to Jensen more than once throughout the party that he’s possibly enjoying this cover a little too much, but by the time he realizes that possibility is a reality, it’s also too late.

“We’ve been looking for you!” Jared bounds over as Jensen exits the bathroom, beaming at him. “C’mon, Chris is making a toast!”

Jared yanks Jensen to the center of the room, gripping him with a sweaty hand and thrusting a glass of eggnog into Jensen’s other hand, tipsy and grinning the whole while.

“I’d like to make a toast.” Chris Kane raises his glass, calling everyone to attention. “To Jared and Jensen, our wonderful hosts who threw this wonderful party. New to the neighborhood, but already they feel like old friends.”

“To Jared and Jensen!” Everyone crows, raising their glasses and taking sips and applauding.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Gabe starts chanting, and soon enough everyone has joined in. Jared grins, slipping an arm around Jensen’s shoulders, leaning against him.

“I’m honored!” Jared laughs. “We’re honored, truly. I-” He casts a sly glance in Jensen’s direction, and before Jensen can even wonder what’s about to happen, he says, “When Jensen and I first moved in together here, we were really worried it wouldn’t work out. Maybe you wouldn’t like us, or maybe we’d realize that we didn’t even like each other.” Jared pauses for the laughter, and then blushes lightly. “But moving in to this place has shown us that a good home is nothing without good friends. We were worried that moving in together would drive us apart but I think that I’ve never been more in love with you than I am now, babe. Merry Christmas.”

The room erupts in cheers, and Jensen stares at the floor, slightly stunned. He stares out at their neighbors, locking onto each of their smiling faces, and feels somewhat like the Grinch, his heart growing two or three sizes too big on that damn Christmas cheer.

“KISS!” Danni shrieks, and before Jensen can even object the entire neighborhood is chanting “KISS, KISS, KISS,” like frat bros at a kegger in college. The room isn’t spinning as much as it should be, because Jared isn’t drunk, not one fucking bit, but the air feels heavy and sweet as if he were, his skin warm where his partner’s plastered against his side. Jensen has managed, somehow, not to look at Jared this whole time, even as Jared’s skin got warmer, even as the room got hazier despite the lack of alcohol on Jensen’s part. He has not looked at Jared once because, truth be told, Jensen doesn’t know if he can.

"Yeah, Jen," Jared says, reverting to a nickname that Jensen knows is just for him, so he looks down to ask just what the fuck he’s talking about. “Yeah Jen, do it. I dare ya. I _double_ dare ya.”

Jared is faking flat-out drunk but even at that Jensen knows the alcohol has had some effect on him, the goddamn lush. Jared may have a damn perfect shooting record and has a license to kill but in this moment, he’s tipsy, soft and silly and vulnerable, from the bright red flush in his cheeks to the laughing shine in his eye to the way his sweaty bangs are clinging to his skin. His reindeer antlers are askew and half the twinkling lights in his sweater are flickering out.

He looks like an idiot, Jensen thinks, before he loses his mind and kisses Jared anyway.

He’s aware of the whooping and catcalls of all their drunken neighbors, but only in a scatterbrained off-hand way. He’s only truly aware how Jared’s mouth tastes like eggnog and his skin is hot and that’s all the thought processing he can get in before Jared flings his arms around Jensen’s neck and goes for broke.

Jared’s hands fist in Jensen’s sweater and the stupid jingle bells on his antlers tinkle as they bounce against Jensen’s forehead but he doesn’t give a flying fuck because it’s sudden and fast and Jensen out of nowhere is _starving_ for it.

He kisses Jared back like there’s something there to be claimed, something to steal because it wasn’t his in the first place, and Jared moans against his mouth and Jensen is startlingly rock hard in his stupid ass dad-jeans like he’s sixteen years old and popping wood at the slightest glance of movement and _fuck_.

In the end, and Jensen is loath to admit this despite its truth, it’s not the surprise boner, nor the cheering and pointed coughing of their neighbors, nor the white noise of his brain that brings him to attention.

It’s Chad, absolutely _screaming_ in his ear.

“STAND TO, STAND TO AGENT WE’VE GOT MOVEMENT ON THE LEFT QUADRANT OF THE HOUSE. MOTHERFUCKER GET YOUR ASS INTO THE BEDROOM STAT.”

Jensen books it up the stairs, cursing himself for leaving his gun on the nightstand instead of finding somewhere to store it in these ridiculously tight jeans and honestly _fuck_ Jared for convincing Jensen to buy those.

He bursts into the bedroom to find Stephen Amell standing there, looking slightly confused.

“Sorry, dude, just trying to find another bathroom.” Stephen smiles. “Downstairs one was in use, and I’ve had a lot to drink.”

“Uh, go ahead,” Jensen says, showing Stephen the way, but scanning the room for signs that anything was moved. His gun is still on the nightstand, so Jensen tucks it back in the drawer, hoping Stephen hasn’t noticed.

“He was poking around,” Chad says, “Checking your drawers. That isn’t really proof, he could just be nosey, but he’s up to something. Good thing I caught it, while you were downstairs playing tonsil hockey.”

Jensen ignores him, smiling politely when Stephen exits the bathroom and following him downstairs. He catches Jared’s questioning look, but waves it off with a slight tap to his ear. Later. They’ll discuss later.

Stephen, claiming a stomach ache, with Katie not far behind, duck out for the night and the others follow soon after, Jensen making several appointments to play golf, Jared offering to host the next book club after the holidays, everyone getting invites to the Evans’ New Year’s Eve Bash. Jensen doesn’t keep close to Jared nor does he really look at him but he feels Jared watching him, quietly, unobtrusively. Kisses are bestowed and hugs and manly claps on the back and it’s easily another forty five minutes when Jensen finally gets the deadbolt clicked on the door and turns to confront the massive elephant in the room before they get to bed.

Jared is nowhere in sight.

Jensen takes his time cleaning up a few platters, but gives up pretty fucking quickly when it hits him just how _tired_ he is of this case and this fake ass stupid ass domestic thing and frankly this job as a whole. And of his partner. Most definitely his partner.

He’s just begun composing his letter of resignation, purely for sadistic glee, in his head when he cautiously enters the bedroom to find Jared in the bathroom, leaning forward and staring at his face in the mirror as the tap runs gently below him. He’s got his toothbrush clutched tightly in one hand, but other than that, his face gives off no trace of emotion. Just an open, curious stare at the person in the mirror.

“You alright?”

Jared tosses a small grin over the shoulder. “Yeah. Still a little drunk, I think.”

The tension stands taught between them, like a livewire connecting every little move and sound they make.

“Never would’ve taken you for a lightweight, Jared.”

He huffs, but it’s strained, and so Jensen changes the topic for both of them, leaving Jared to wash up while he strips off his ugly Christmas sweater and jeans-from-hell, feeling like he’s peeling off the earlier atmosphere from his skin as well, the hazy twinkling lights, the warmth of Jared, the _taste_ of him—

Fuck. Jensen grits his teeth and steels himself not to go anywhere near his dick as he continues stripping off the jeans, sure that as soon as he gets into that freezing cold bed and lays down on his dick, surely it’ll shut the fuck up.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Two weeks he was just beginning to recognize that Jared might actually be a decent human being and now he’s popping wood because they’d shared an innocent peck on the lips? A _fake_ peck on the lips, because they were _fake_ engaged _fake_ boyfriends in this _fake_ house living this _fake_ life?

“ _You_ alright?” Jared shoots the earlier question back as Jensen stares at the wall, trying to calm himself down.

Jensen nods, gritting his teeth. “Yeah. Tired.”

“Well, we better get to bed. We’ll need our sleep, Christmas and all that.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They go about the business of straightening the sheets and making the bed, avoiding each other’s gaze, focusing on straightening out wrinkles instead, when Jensen kind of snaps.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Jensen blurts, feeling like the biggest fucking asshole in the universe god fucking help him but he needs Jared to know. “I mean in the sense that it was strictly business and I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Jared blinks, expressionless. “Um. No. Not at all. Strictly business.”

Something loosens in Jensen’s chest just as something tightens in his stomach. “Yeah?”

Jared nods, cracking the first real smile since Jensen kissed him. “Yeah. Now let’s get to bed, I’m fucking freezing.”

“Fucking Chad,” Jensen swears, taking out the earpiece before Chad has time to form a retort.

They make the bed, and everything’s fine. They crawl into bed, and everything’s fine. Jensen turns out the light and Jared punches his pillow and everything’s _fine_.

“Goodnight, Jensen.”

“Goodnight, Jared.”

Jensen kissed Jared like his life depended on it, and everything’s…fine.

 

 

Jensen rolls out of bed and despite not having had a single drop of alcohol last night, he feels spectacularly hungover.

What the _fuck_.

Jared’s not in bed, which Jensen is simultaneously grateful for and disappointed at, but he forces himself to clamber into the bathroom for a freezing cold shower. He jerks off, mechanically, and not once does he think of Jared’s warm skin against his, no siree. He goes through the morning routine of brushing his teeth, toweling off, and pulling on some sweats, as slow as humanely possible. Everything may have been fine last night, but last night now feels like a fever dream. He doesn’t want to continue existing in that dream where he lacked impulse control and common fucking sense. He shudders to think of a world where he doesn’t have it as a whole.

They’ve got a _job_ to do for fuck’s sake.

The kitchen smells strongly of burning… _something_ , and Jensen’s about to open his mouth and complain when he hears errant humming and spots Jared at the stove, wearing that stupidly large Christmas sweater again, only after last night’s wear, and without the under layers, the sweater hangs loose and stretches around Jared’s shoulders and collarbone, covering him all the way down to the edge of his boxer shorts. He looks lean and delicate, with one hip cocked to the side as he hums what sounds like a bastardized version of Santa Baby as he pokes at what looks like an omelets in the frying pan.

“I’m going for a kind of zesty Christmas feel, so I figured red and green peppers and eggs would be good, yeah?” Jared turns slightly, eyes still on the omelets.

They live in a house of things that are not theirs, a house that isn’t theirs, and yet they fit. Jensen’s got emotional blockage in spades and Jared’s got the enthusiasm of a hyperactive five year old, but for this moment, the two of them with their egos and their quirks fit in this gigantic kitchen with the granite counters and overpriced fridge. It’s not a place they belong, but it’s one they fit. And this whole ridiculous domestic rouge is over the top and fake and yet--seeing Jared standing at the counter in his giant sweater singing off-key Christmas carols and burning the eggs—Jensen could do this forever. Hand him the sign-up sheet, Jensen will put himself down for days of this. For eggs and sweaters and tone-deaf singing. For a bed that always feels warm because there’s someone to share it with.

Or maybe just for Jared, in whatever way Jensen can get him.

“Yeah,” Jensen rasps, struck with revelation.

He sits down, and he eats that godawful omelet, and he swears it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“So, did we figure out anything last night?”

“What?” Jensen asks stupidly, before smacking his palm onto his forehead. “Oh! Fuck, I totally forgot! Stephen was snooping around our room last night.”

“Amell?”

“Yup.” Jensen nods eagerly, cursing himself for totally forgetting about it until this moment. “Said he was just looking for the bathroom, but Chad says he was poking around our drawers. Could be nothing, just neighbor nosiness, but I think we should check it out, do we have any dirt on him and Katie?”

“Not that I’m aware of…” Jensen says quietly, but then his eyes brighten. “Oh! Wait! Yes. On wine night. Katie was tipsy and let slip that she and Stephen are swingers.”

“Swingers?” Jensen’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Yeah, you know, like, married couples who like to invite other people into the bedroom?” Jared waves his hands animatedly, talking a mile a minute. “Anyway, she was drunk and accidentally let slip that Stephen said he’d totally want to swing with me. What if I seduced him and got into their house and did some snooping of my own?”

Jensen balks, suddenly tense. “You’d… you’d be willing to do that?”

Jared shrugs. “I’m not saying it’d be fun, but if it solved the case? Would you do it?”

Of course Jensen would, in a heartbeat. But Jensen is not the one Stephen said he’d invite in the bedroom. It’s Jared, sweet Jared, who last night kissed Jensen like it meant something.

Jensen’s face closes off. “I’m not sure how I feel about this plan.”

Jared frowns. “At this rate, it’s all we’ve got. Think about it?”

He thinks. “I don’t like this plan at all.”

“Can’t you just hear me out?”

“No, Jared.”

“Why not?”

Because, Jensen thinks, jealous and possessive for reasons he has no right to feel, while I may not be fucking you, I sure as hell am not going to let anyone else do the job for me.

His expression seems to leave something to be desired, because Jared eyes dim and he says in a placating tone, “Look. Let’s not argue. Okay? It’s Christmas. We can table the discussion for tomorrow. For now, we eat. Okay?”

Jensen nods, tries to fill the hollow pit that’s sunk in his stomach with badly cooked eggs instead.

Despite the fact that they had both agreed to not buy Christmas presents, they somehow both end up sitting by the Christmas tree and swapping them anyhow, Jared pulling his out of the vase over the fireplace, Jensen pulling his out of the bookshelf.

At Jared’s insistence, Jensen opens his gift first. It’s wrapped in newspaper, which Jensen is hardly surprised by, but that falls away pretty quickly to reveal a pair of socks, knitted with thick wool, which Jensen can only assume is Jared’s handiwork.

“For your perpetually cold toes,” Jared says, biting his lip nervously. “See inside for extra goodies.”

Jensen tips the socks upside down to reveal a lip balm, dental gloss, a pair of dog tags and a long skinny tube of shampoo.

“I notice you almost never floss, which, in my opinion, is a pretty bad habit to get into. And then the lip balm, because you’re always chewing at your lip when you’re focusing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you do. And then the shampoo, which is way more expensive than it looks. You’ve been stealing mine and using it a lot lately, so I figured I’d get you your own bottle.”

Jensen doesn’t quite know how to admit that he only steals Jared’s shampoo because it smells like Jared, so he focuses on the last item, holding them up. Jared looks down at his hands in his lap, looking embarrassed, and speaking in a low voice.

“I uh… I made a few calls. I know a guy who uh, knows a guy, who makes dog tags for fallen members of the force during 9/11. Gave him your dad’s name and badge number, and…yeah.”

Jensen doesn’t quite know how to respond at all, apart from sitting in silence and blinking rapidly. He shoves his gift into Jared’s hands before he does something much rasher instead. Jared tears away the wrapping paper to reveal a small stack of index cards, held together by a very nice, rather expensive looking watch.

“Uh, I wrote out some of your favorite recipes,” Jensen says sheepishly, finding his voice again. “Tried to simplify them, so they won’t burn down the kitchen, and uh, you should still probably have someone over to help you just in case, but yeah. So you don’t starve to death once the whole mission is over, and you don’t have me to play Donna Reed for you, alright?”

“And the watch…?”

“I noticed you wearing one at our first debrief, and I also noticed that it was hideous. If you’re going to insist on being an anal-retentive about all things schedule related, at least do it in style. It’s not… it’s nowhere near as good as your gift, I could have done better--”

“I love it,” Jared says softly, and when they look up at each other Jared’s full dimpled smile is the most wonderful and terrifying thing Jensen’s ever seen, all at once. “I love it, Jensen. Thank you.”

“Right back at you,” Jensen says, hoarse and incapable of saying anything else for fear he’ll tell Jared everything and mess it all up.

They sit in silence, holding their gifts in their laps by the glow of the Christmas tree, for quite some time.

 

\--

 

Something’s irrevocably changed. Jensen knows it, Jared knows it. They both know it. They’re just not going to talk about it at all.

Hell, even Chad knows it, has known it all along, not that Jensen will ever admit he’s right.

They spend the next few post-Christmas days continuing to investigate, listening in to the neighbors. Sandy and Justin have a nasty fight in the kitchen the day after Christmas, something about the in-laws. Alona’s pregnant, tells her mom over the phone but hasn’t told Gabe, it’s too early, she’s too scared of how he’ll react. Danni has a miscarriage, and Jared and Jensen listen, horrified, as Chris soothes her tears, promising her that they’ll try again, that it will be alright. Misha and Vicki are talking about going on sabbatical and the Amells are still suspiciously arguing over the best way to make a goddamn vegan lentil casserole. The Evans household is having a completely uneventful and drama free post-Christmas, and spend most of their time in the kitchen playing with the new puppy that Hayley got for Chris. Life goes on, even after Christmas, but between Jared and Jensen—even amidst all the drama they have to listen in on—something has changed.

They still talk, and swap jokes but something about Jared’s tone, the way he tosses these little smiles in Jensen’s direction when he thinks he’s not looking, it looks different and it feels different and it _is_ different. Jensen just can’t quite put his finger on it, and truth be told he doesn’t have time to. New Year’s Eve is upon them, and after much careful debate and planning over the last few days, they’ve decided to put Jared’s idea into action.

Tonight, Jared’s going to talk to Stephen, and try and get into the house.

But for now, Jared’s running pell-mell around their bedroom, looking for matching socks.

“We’re going to be late!” Jared says frantically, tossing clothes all over the place. “And thanks to you, our laundry’s all mixed up together!”

“It’s a New Year’s Eve party!” Jensen replies. “You’re only late if you get there after midnight!”

“Same thing!”

Jensen just rolls his eyes, focuses on tucking his sweater into his jeans, adjusting his belt, then going to straighten his tie.

“Honey, relax, we’ll be there on time.” Jensen says, casting Jared a fleeting glance as Jared dashes about, coming up with a victorious cry once he finds his missing sock.

“Honey, I know, and if you tell me to relax one more time I’ll have to punch you,” Jared says evenly, bending over to tie his shoes.

“I feel like it’s not too late to flee the country, right? What if we just said ‘fuck it. fuck this party and this whole debacle’ and moved to a shitty apartment in the city and just… took off.” Jensen offers the joke rather lamely, but he’s aware this whole while of how vague he’s being, of exactly which part of this life he wants to tell to fuck off.

“I feel like that’d be missing the whole point of ‘domesticated partnership’, don’t you?” Jared raises an eyebrow.

“You put two people under roof together, that’s all you need to be domestic,” Jensen says, before swearing as his fingers fumble over his tie.

“I’m confused,” Jared says. “Are we talking about this as partners, or boyfriends?”

“Whatever can get us out of another night of holiday schmoozing.”

Jared laughs at that and finally, with his shoes tied, walks over to Jensen, tutting as he sees the tie struggle. “Here. Let me.”

Jensen lets go of the silk fabric with all too willing hands, freezing as Jared steps close, re-loops the tie about his neck, brow furrowed in concentration as he sets about tying it. The gesture is intimate, and the sweetness of the moment lingers just a bit too long and god, Jensen’s tempted, so damn tempted, to say all the things he’s been holding back. Just to see what would come of it, if anything could.

His whole goddamn life, Jensen’s never once considered himself a romantic. Now he’s here, on a New Year’s Eve, silently composing love letters that he’d never have the courage to send, even if he did get around to writing them down.

Life’s funny that way.

“You look nice.” Jensen says, and means it; Jared smells clean from the shower, like soap. His hair is dried and his bangs are hanging just above his eyes, dressed in a rather pink v-neck sweater and jeans that only he could pull off.

Jared just snorts, taking it to be a joke. “Thanks, but flattery will get you nowhere. You’re still going.”

“But I don’t want to do this,” Jensen whines.

“You don’t have a choice,” Jared says, and then stops, grinning.

“What?” Jensen looks up.

“Pretend…” Jared’s mouth twists as he thinks, “Pretend I’m Jared Forrester. Jared Forrester, your madly in love beau. What would you say to Jared Forrester?”

“I’d say, Jared, darling, dearest, light of my life, fire of my loins. I want to move out of suburbia,” Jensen says flatly, ignoring the way his breath seems to catch in his chest.

“Why Jensen Brady, handsome, sex god of my dreams,” Jared says, causing Jensen to snort, “After we go to this wretched party, and schmooze with the wretched guests, I’m all yours. We’ll go anywhere you want, anytime. You want to leave suburbia? Let’s go.”

“Where oh where shall we go?”

“Anywhere,” Jared says excitedly. “Everywhere. Let’s get a crappy apartment in the city with a crappy box spring and a heater that won’t turn on. Let’s throw shitty wine nights and even shittier ugly sweater parties and let’s do it together, just me and you, and lots and lots of condoms, because protection is important.”

It’s a lame joke, and Jensen should be laughing, but he’s struck dumb by wanting, wanting that tiny little painting of a hypothetical life so bad he aches with it. There’s that odd light in Jared’s eyes that attests to Playing the Game, the kind of look he gets when he’s lying his ass off and having the time of his life while doing it. Jensen sees it, whenever he schmoozes the neighbors, or placates Gen over the intercom. And now, as he spins this elaborate idea of escape, all under the guise of someone who loves Jensen, someone wants nothing more than a safe, comfortable life.

“What do you say to that?” Jared says quietly, eyes gone soft, and Jensen can no longer tell which reality they’re talking about escaping, can’t tell if they’re being the real or pretend versions of themselves, though if Jensen is being perfectly honest, pretend flew out the door pretty much the instant that Jared first kissed him.

“I’d say,” Jensen says, breathlessly, “As long as it’s a place that’s ours, a place we own, instead of just vacating to for a few stretch of months. It’d be a home.”

Somewhere in the midst of the banter, Jared’s hands have slipped from Jensen’s tie to wrap around his neck, fingers brushing the short hairs at the nape. Somewhere in the midst of the banter, Jensen stopped caring that they had a job to do at all.

“A home.” Jared’s eyes flutter closed, and he’s dipping into Jensen’s space without so much as a hesitation. “I like the sound of that.”

It all happens so fast, kissing Jared, that Jensen can’t even find it in himself to call for restraint. It honest to god feels so familiar, falling back onto the bed with Jared’s mouth warm and insistent on his, hands in his hair, on his face, no heat or motive just soft, open mouthed kisses that leave Jensen robbed of oxygen, struggling to keep a grip on what exactly is happening here.

Because this is not the cover. If this is the cover talking, both of them should be nominated for Oscars. This, Jared’s mouth on Jensen’s, Jared’s dainty nose bumping Jensen’s, Jared’s hair tangled in Jensen’s fingers as he grips and holds fast, this is too good a lie to be anything but the truth.

The weight of Jared, warm and pliant, above him suddenly feels too much to take, too much at once rushing straight for Jensen’s chest, a heart attack in reverse, like he’s stuttering back to life after years of hibernation. And oh god, he really could do this for days. He could forget about the party, forget about all of it, and do this for days and for days and for days…

“You really are going to be late, you know,” Chad says in both of their earpieces.

Jared doesn’t scramble up as Jensen expects, just slowly detaches his mouth from Jensen’s with a small smile, rolling over and chuckling. “Thanks, asshole.”

It takes a few seconds for Jensen to gather enough brain cells together but eventually he stands up, mouth buzzing, straightening his tie, fixing his collar, trying to ignore the huge notion of how utterly fucked he is in this whole mess of a situation. He puts a safe distance between him and Jared, feigning interest in his reflection in the window, fixing his hair, readjusting his sweater.

He turns around to look at Jared, it’s somehow even worse than before.

“C’mon honey.” Jared isn’t looking at Jensen, but he is smiling, mouth red and still wet, biting down on his lip. His hair’s still a bit mussed, and his shirt—while remaining tucked—definitely looks like it’s been rucked up a few inches. It takes everything in Jensen not to cross the room and pull him in again. “Let’s go.”

Unable to say much else, Jensen nods, and they walk over across the street.

 

 

If Jared and Jensen’s Christmas Party was considered wild, the Evans’ New Years Eve Bash is a whole other definition of the word unto its own.

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen mutters as they walk through, balancing a tray of homemade macaroons in one hand and holding Jared’s tightly in the other. “These two…”

“I know.” Jared laughs. The entire massive living room is packed with people, beautiful decorative strands of crystals draping from the ceiling like icicles. There are ice sculptures and chocolate fountains and several waiters wandering through the crowd with champagne flutes. Most of the people here are co-workers of the Evans’, other people who work at their huge non-profit billion dollar organization. It’s beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale.

“There you are!” Chris shouts, and they turn to find him and Hayley, her in a deep crimson dress, him with a matching tie, respectively, to go with his suit. After the confusion of the last hour or so, Jared’s feeling extremely relieved to see them. “Glad you could make it!”

“Jared!” Hayley’s glowing, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “Come and help me in the kitchen!”

Jared walks into the kitchen, confirming with one glance that Jensen is well engaged with Chris in a debate about football, or something along that line. He enters the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and picking up a dish that Hayley points to, drying it with a hand towel he’d snatched off the counter. Hayley leans back against the counter, sipping her champagne and smiling contentedly.

“Tell me something,” She says after a few minutes. “Do you tell Jensen often?”

“Tell him what?”Jared raises an eyebrow.

“How terribly in love you are with him, darling.”

Jared laughs a bit, and is surprised to find that the gesture of it almost hurts. Mostly because of how true it is. He had never expected it, could never have guessed it, but its the only thing in this whole disaster of an undercover that Jared knows to be true.

“There’s not a whole lot of opportunities,” Jared says earnestly. “I love Jensen, but he’s never been the best at sentimentality. It’s more of a ‘goes unspoken and assumed’ kind of thing.”

“What a romantic.”She says flatly.

“I know right?”

“Have you two discussed marriage?”

Jared’s pulse picks up a bit, which he knows is stupid. This isn’t real. None of it is real. “We’ve talked about it. But… I don’t think Jensen is ready.”

“He loves you, does he not?”

Jared smirks to himself, finally able to admit some truth. “He has general issues with rules and regulations. I think marriage scares him, even though I’ve said time and again that there’d be nothing different, nothing would change, we’d just be doing the same things as always, only we’d have a joint bank account, and wedding photos all over the house. I dunno, I think it’s very possible that Jensen is not as in love with me as I thought he was…”

“Ridiculous,” Hayley says, shaking her head.

“No, but I really think—“

“Jared, I know for a fact that Jensen is so in love with you he’s nearly incapacitated by it. It’s the same way my husband looks at me. Trust me, darling, it’s love.”

Jared laughs, putting the dish and the towel back on the counter. “Okay, but you and Chris are forever, that shit was cemented in stone from the start, you said so yourself!”

“Maybe so, but it wasn’t an easy road getting there. Sometimes, dear, you just have to put everything on the line. You have to stand up and say ‘this is how it is. Here’s how I feel.’ And I think you’ll find he feels the same.”

“What it that simple for you and Chris?”

Hayley looks away thoughtfully, clinking a nail against her champagne flute. “Well, we were friends for many years, but all of our friends thought something was going on. But we were truly just friends, or at least, pretended to feel as if we were. I think for a time he didn’t say anything to me because he knew I was out of his league, which is probably true.” She smiles wide then, the humor shining in the warm brown of her eyes, “But after years of being ‘friends’ and driving everyone around us nuts with the antics, I finally took pity on him and had to let him in on the secret.”

Jared grins back at her. “How’d you do it?”

“Oh, we were horsing around one night while watching Dirty Dancing and having a bottle of wine. We always liked to join in with the dancing for ‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life’. Well one twirl-and-dip led to another and just like that: we were making out on his couch like horny teenagers.”

Jared’s surprised to see Hayley blush a little, the brassiness of her tone now gentle as she says, “ We’ve been mad for each other ever since.”

“You make it seem so simple.”

“Love isn’t perfect,” She admits, her red lips twisted in a wry smile, “But when it’s right, it’s easier than breathing, imperfections and all.”

A tinkling of broken glass sounds from the next room over and Hayley sighs, reaching for the stain remover and paper towels. “That being said, there may be a divorce on the horizon if my husband spilled wine on the white carpet again.”

Jared lingers behind as she steels herself and exits the kitchen door shouting,”Oh, what now?” in a voice that borders on a laugh.

Through the swinging kitchen door, Jared grins as he sees Chris shouting “It wasn’t me! I swear!” then throwing his head back in laughter, clutching his chest as Hayley threatens to strangle him, laughing in kind.

And there, just out of the edge of frame is Jensen, his eyes crinkling up as he grins at their friends, the dining room light catching just so in the highlights of his hair. He looks happy, and handsome, and when the smile beams on Jared he thinks that maybe Hayley Evans knows a thing or two.

 

\--

 

The party is solidly in swing now, Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve projected on the flat screen in the living room. There’s barely half an hour before the countdown, and Jensen’s paced around the Evans’ house enough times and conversed with enough people that he finds himself antsy and ready to get out of here. The crowd makes him tense, too many people to be able to keep a proper eye on the Amells. In fact, this whole evening has got something off stirring in Jensen’s gut, the preliminary sense of unease when danger is afoot.

He’s just about to go to the bathroom to check in with Chad on the earpiece when Jared yanks him into an awkward revolving embrace.

“Dance with me?” He prompts, more than asks, and before Jensen can even protest he’s got a hand settled low on the smell of Jared’s back, the other clasping his hand, and they’re dancing, just like that, swaying back and forth along the other few couples over by the speakers, where Billie Holiday’s ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ plays softly.

“Good song,” Jensen says lamely, finding himself overwhelmed by the sudden closeness of Jared, how it doesn’t quite seem close enough.

“I’m going to go for it.” Jared whispers in Jensen’s ear excitedly. “I’m going to try and seduce Stephen.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan!” Jensen sputters, trying simply to keep up with the fact that Jared’s in his arms for the second time in a night. “You’re supposed to let him come to you.”

“I know, but if we really think it’s him, we’ve got to catch him! We’ve gotta move quick, isn’t that what you’re always saying? I’ll just casually mention how Katie said they were into the whole Swingers lifestyle, and take it from there. Hopefully I can sleep with him and poke around his place, see how things are going. I think it’ll go great.”

“And what if he is the guy we’re looking for, huh?” Jensen twirls Jared and brings him back in, snug, so their mouths almost touch as they speak. “You think he’s just going to let you go for poking your nose in his business?”

Jared’s eyelashes flutter for a second, like he’s waiting for Jensen to kiss him or something, and then he swallows, all part of the act. “Jensen, I’m a trained agent, I think I know how to handle things when a situation goes a bit sour. You distract Katie, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.”

Jensen opens his mouth to complain heavily again but Jared just pulls out the sweetest, most pleading puppy dog eyes Jensen’s ever seen, like he’s asking for an extra chocolate chip cookie rather than asking to tail someone for an FBI investigation, whispering desperately, “Please, Jensen. I won’t let you down.”

Too overwhelmed to form a proper argument, Jensen gives in.

“Fine,” Jensen says softly, and then, selfishly, “But finish the song with me, so no one thinks you’re steppin’ out on your boyfriend, okay?”

Jared smiles, leans in till they’re cheek to cheek, swaying back and forth among the other couples. The crystals hanging from the ceiling hang like vines of stars and there are people around that could be watching, Jensen knows, so he gathers Jared closer than he has any right to, and pretends for just a few moments that once the song is over Jared will stay for another, and then another, until midnight passes by and they get to kiss at the end of the countdown and go home to their cold bed and in the morning do it all over again.

There are other couples on the dance floor, some young, some old, some kissing, others just talking softly above the music. Jensen wonders if these people get it. Jensen wonders if these people go home, thanking their goddamn lucky stars that they get to have what he only gets the facsimile off, the knock-off version.

“Dude, you know this can only end badly, right?” Chad says in Jensen’s ear, and Jensen ignores him, breathing in the moment and blaming it on champagne that he didn’t drink. The room is bathed in a pale blue and pink romantic lighting, and if this were a movie, the credits would be rolling. But it’s not a movie. It’s not even real life. It’s their mission, their job, to see this through.

He closes his eyes, and pretends, because in a scant few hours this may very well all be over, and he’ll never have it again.

_I’ll find you, in the morning sun_

_And when the night is new_

_I’ll be looking at the moon_

_But I’ll be seeing you_

The song draws to a mournful close of trumpets and piano, and Jared pulls back, eyes shining.

“Catch you on the flip-side of midnight.” Jared whispers after holding Jensen’s gaze for a beat too long, pulling in for a chaste kiss that’s over before it’s even begun. “For luck, in case I don’t make it back to you in time for our New Year’s kiss.”

Jared pecks his cheek one last time, and pulls away, letting Jensen’s hand go at the last possible second. His eyes follow Jared all the way over to where Stephen stands on the other side of the room. Jensen watches from the corner of his eye as Stephen leans in towards Jared, smiling at whatever silly story Jared is telling, eyes hungry.

He distracts himself best he can from the hot possessive jealousy within him that doesn’t want Stephen anywhere near Jared, immersing himself in a conversation with Katie, Vicki and a couple other of business moguls that the Evans’ know about vacation spots, half tuning in to the conversation, half scanning the crowds for Jared, biting at his bottom lip in worry.

“I’ve heard great things about New Jersey around this time of year. The shore has got some great beach houses,” One of the old business men says politely.

“Oh gosh, yeah!” Katie says, “My husband and I were in New Jersey for our anniversary just last year, it was so beautiful and-”

“Wait a minute,” Jensen snaps to, “You were where?”

“Oh, Stephen took me for a vacation up in New Jersey just last year,” Katie is saying, eyes wide and innocent, “You been around those parts?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, thinking of the empty shipping yard where his team had waited thirteen months ago, thinks of Agent Ford in the hospital. “Yeah I’ve been around those parts.”

Katie’s eyes snap up to his, the superficial cheer draining from her face. And just like that, Jensen knows what’s happening. She knows what he’s talking about, as does he about her. They were there, in New Jersey, both of them: the thought flickers across her face just as it flares in his gut, the unease he’s been holding all afternoon rearing its head.

“Alright everybody!” Chris shouts, shattering the moment, a beaming Hayley standing beside him at the front of the room. “Countdown is happening in about ninety seconds! Go find your lucky partner and get ready to smooch!”

“Excuse me.” Jensen says politely to the group, and heads for the nearest corner of the room, taking out his phone and feigning conversation.

“Chad, I need eyes on Jared, where’s he at.”

“He’s not in the house anymore.” Chad responds, and Jared hears furious typing and clicking in the background. “I’ve hacked all the cams in the Evans’ household and I can’t find him.”

“He at home?”

“Negative…let me tune in on his earpiece, see if I can pick up anything.”

Jensen puts the phone down, pacing in the corner, scanning the room for any sign of Jared.

“Ackles, I got some bad news,” Chad says, clicking back on. “Jared’s off the comms. I’m not picking up his signal, I’ve got no idea where he is right now.”

“He wouldn’t have turned it off, would he?”

“Not unless someone forced him to, or took it from him themselves.”

“Where is he? I thought you said you were keeping an eye on him!”

“I was! But then he went off with that Amell guy to seduce him and I think they went into a closet or something because—“

Jared watches, across the room, as Katie Amell, in her little black dress that fits like a glove, heads for the front door, sending apologies and kisses, saying that Stephen isn’t feeling well, and has gone home early. Odd, Jensen thinks, Stephen had seemed fine not ten minutes ago when Jared had gone to talk to him, asked if they could take this somewhere more private.

Katie slips out the doorway, only pausing for a moment to send Jensen a quick wink over her shoulder.

Jared is nowhere in sight.

The room seems to tilt sideways and warp as the air rushes from Jensen’s lungs in a panic. He can hear the countdown, the screams, can hear the crowd jostling about him as the door closes behind Katie and the New Year Rings in. There are couples kissing, confetti falling from the ceiling and Auld Lang Syne plays sweetly in the background and Jensen has to get the fuck out of there, and get to Jared. He sees Hayley and Chris try to stop him before he bolts, concerned expressions, but everything feels a bit underwater and Jensen just shoves past them, swinging out the door into the chilly California air.

He’s across the street, and in the house within seconds, dialing the phone in the kitchen the only number he has for this goddamn mission.

“911, what’s your emergency?” Jensen recognizes Cortese’s voice in an instant.

“Get as many people as you can down there, we’ve got a hostage situation. It’s the Amells, Cortese. And they’ve got Jared.”

A short pause. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Stay put.”

“Like hell I’m doing that,” Jensen snarls, slamming the phone down and heading for the closet. He doesn’t have that much time, and for all he knows, Jared could already be dead.

“Fuck,” he swears, loading himself with as many weapons as he can, forcing him to keep his wits together, because panicking is going to do nothing to save his partner.

Tucking one last switchblade into the ensemble, Jensen steps out of the door, casting one last glance back at the house, and then bee-lining for the Amell’s. The street is quiet as Jensen runs, no sound except for the muffled party at the Evans’ house.

He rings the doorbell to the Amell house. No answer. He rings again. No answer. He pounds on the door, and not even a flicker of a light goes on.

“I better not get written up for this.” Jensen swears, and shoots the lock, kicking the door back till it slams against the wall, focusing on keeping his breathing even, his heart steady, even with adrenaline the only thing running through his veins.

The living room is still as a graveyard, no light but the twinkling globes on the Christmas tree, casting the room in a pale, disco-ball like movement of colors. Jensen checks his six, then creeps forward, silent as a cat as he creeps up the stairs, hoping to heaven above that the silence is a good thing, that the silence means Jared’s still alive.

He’s just reached the top floor landing when he hears it, the muted yet unmistakable sound of someone screaming against a gag, or duct tape, before a loud cracking noise, then silence again.

There’s no use in hesitating: they already know he’s here. He kicks down the bedroom door, safety cocked, ready to shoot.

“There you are,” Katie coos from the darkness. “We were just beginning to worry where you’d gone.”

“If you hurt him, I swear to god I’ll shoot you both.” Jensen growls.

The light flicks on and Jensen’s heart skips a beat.

Jared’s alive, but he looks wrecked, bruised, and bleeding from a nasty cut in the head. Seated on the floor, his hands bound behind his back, he’s breathing heavily, like they’d dosed him on something for—chloroform, probably—but his eyes are open and they are afraid.

“Hey honey,” Jensen says. “You okay?”

Jared just rolls his eyes as if to say _What do you think, dumb ass?_

The spark of personality is enough that Jensen can relax just a fraction.

“He’d answer you for real, but uh, he’s a little indisposed,” Stephen says, smirking.

“Let him go, or I’ll shoot,” Jensen responds, voice deadly, gun pointed directly at Stephen’s head.

Stephen laughs. “See, that’s the thing Ackles, I don’t think you will.”

Jensen blinks, and Stephen smiles wider. “Yeah, we know all about your little cover stunt. Katie and I recognized you the second you two morons moved in.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Jensen raises an eyebrow, not lowering the gun.

“You wouldn’t remember,” Stephen says, and his grin makes Jensen itch between his shoulder blades. “You were mostly too busy trying to recover from your colossal fuckup that caused half a dozen injuries last year. We didn’t stick around long, mind you. Just enough to see your face when you knew you’d lost.”

“You’re not gonna get away with this. Reinforcements are headed for us right now as you sit here monologuing.” Jensen bares his teeth in a wolfish smile.

“Maybe so. But I’ve got your favorite toy,” Stephen says evenly, running the barrel of his gun along Jared’s jaw, who doesn’t wince, just breathes heavier, faster. “And I know you’ll do anything I say just to make sure I don’t break him.”

“You wouldn’t.” Jensen spits.

“Would I?” Stephen says, and pistol whips Jared on the back of his head, causing him to groan in pain and breathe harshly through his nostrils. “One more bluff, Jenny, and I’ll be using the other end of this gun.”

Jensen looks between the three of them; Stephen, Katie, and Jared, who seems to be shaking his head fiercely, and then lowers his gun, defeated.

“Sorry, Jared,” He croaks. “I can’t lose another man. Not again, and not you.”

Jared shouts something against his gag but Stephen steps forward, victorious. “Get on the chair next to Jared. Katie, restrain him, and then have the engine running, okay?”

Jensen feels the zip ties go around his wrists, does not make eye contact with Jared. Not yet. Not quite.

Their first mistake is in not patting Jensen down, which tells him they probably haven’t taken any hostages before. Their second, well, they’re about find out for themselves.

As Katie pecks Stephen on the lips and reaches for the duct tape, Jensen leans over to Jared and mutters, “Remember how I said Die Hard was my favorite movie?”

Jared glares in confusion, and Jensen just smiles, slow, and maybe a little bit maniacal at that, as the duct tape goes over his mouth. Katie heads downstairs and Stephen just watches the street from above, gun trained at their heads.

In the end, it’s the parties that save them. The sound of firecrackers and cheering and loud music keeps Amell distracted, allowing Jensen to slip pocket knife from the sleeve of his hideous holiday sweater, and quietly cut the zip ties at the same moment another firework goes off. He nudges the handle against Jared’s hand and very nearly sighs in relief when Jared takes it.

They’ve not got a minute to waste. Amell’s going to be out of here any goddamn minute.

There really isn’t ever going to be a ‘best opportunity’ to tackle down someone holding a gun. It’s either go for broke or don’t go at all, and Jensen’s not really willing to find out what happens with that latter option.

He waits until one particularly loud firework goes off, causing Stephen to look outside, and then lunges from the chair, ripping the duct tape off his mouth and screaming, “Get the gun!”

He launches his entire body weight in Amell’s direction, throwing the both of them down the stairs.

Jensen tucks and rolls, managing to position his body so Amell gets most of the impact, miraculously not breaking his neck by the time they land in the foyer. Jensen hears the gun skitter across the wood floor, hears the thundering of footsteps and someone yelling but doesn’t try and suss out what’s happening, just focuses on keeping Amell pinned to the floor until reinforcements arrive or Jared has the gun.

He had forgotten, of course, that Katie was supposed to come back and get Stephen when the car was ready. He hears Katie scream and straightens just see her gun trained on him watch the bullet go straight into his chest.

Fuck.

There’s a rather lot of commotion after that. As he slams back into the floor, skull clanging, Jensen’s aware of several shots ringing out, more screaming, the door being kicked in again as more agents storm the room. But mostly there’s Jared, pleading in whispers, cradling Jensen’s face, ripping Jensen’s sweater open to reveal—

“Kevlar vest,” Jared says a bit hysterically, almost laughing in relief. “Motherfucking Kevlar. You didn’t think to mention that before you tackled the suspect down in some kamikaze stunt?”

“I asked if you’d seen Die Hard,” Jensen wheezes. “John McClane: always got an ace up his sleeve.”

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you again,” Jared sniffs, and if Jensen’s vision weren’t swimming with black spots of dizziness he’d swear that Jared’s eyes were wet.

“Happy New Year to you too, Honey.” Jensen grins, and passes out.

 

 

If Jared knew whoever invented the Kevlar vest, he’d probably be proposing marriage right about now to them.

He keeps staring at the odd dent in Jensen’s jacket, and even though there were greater injuries on this evening—Jared’s bleeding from the temple, Stephen Amell’s gunshot wound at Jared’s hand went clean through his shoulder, for starters—all Jared can think about is the ugly way that Jensen’s skin is going to purple over the coming days, the deadened blood cells spreading wide from the sternum and out.

Jensen’s technically fine, had the wind knocked out of him for a few minutes, but even after he wakes up, as other Agents storm the premises, cuffing the Amells and doing a count of the drugs they can find in the house, and other evidence, Jared can’t stop staring at Jensen. He answers all questions asked of him, allows the medics to check the cut on his head, clears him for concussion, but the whole time he keeps Jensen within his eyesight, watching like a hawk as Jensen gives reports, answers Gen’s questions time and again.

He’s more or less aware of the commotion surrounding them. Of Genevieve shaking their hands and congratulating them both. Of Stephen being taken away in an ambulance, and Katie in a police car. Of the curious eyes of their neighbors, standing at the curb behind the yellow tape. He sees Hayley and Chris, Alona and Gabe and the Kanes and the Collins and the Hartleys and feels a twinge of guilt, but files it away for a later date. They can all put two and two together, and Jared can always call and explain when this whole debacle is over.

The drive back to headquarters, in the back of an ambulance, nonetheless, is in silence. Jensen’s quiet, the kind of quiet he hasn’t been since the very beginning of the mission when he didn’t even like Jared, staring at his folded hands and bloody knuckles from where he’d punched Amell unconscious after waking up to make sure he couldn’t cause any more trouble.

He supposes Jensen is worried about him, maybe, but he’s just staring at his hands like there’s nothing more interesting.

“Hey,” Jared says softly, “We did it.”

Jensen lips twist into a wry smile. “We did it. Free at last from Suburbia.”

They share a chuckle, but the silence is still strained, unspoken and just beneath the surface. Jensen turns and looks out the window of the police car, and Jared watches him. So much has happened in the last few hours, it feels like days ago that Jared had been hovering over Jensen and kissing him soft in their bedroom.

There’d been a moment, after Stephen had gone down, after Jensen had too, when Jared is pretty sure he actually blacked out. He remembers it in disjointed stop motion, stumbling over to Jensen’s body thinking it was just that; a body, with no life in it whatsoever. There had been a minute, before he’d touched Jensen’s neck, felt his pulse, the Kevlar covering his torso, where Jared had existed in a world where Jensen was not.

It was the worst sixty seconds of Jared’s life, and not one he ever wanted to repeat again.

But Jensen is safe, safe and breathing, just a little banged up, and going to be fine. They’re going to be fine.

Only Jensen had been right. They did it. Free at last from Suburbia.

From each other.

It sends unspoken anxiety creeping through Jared’s system, making him antsy, even after they go through all the paperwork and technicalities back at Headquarters in LA. He follows Jensen like a lapdog from room to room, silently helping out when he can, mostly just watching Jensen, and marking the shadows underneath his eyes, the furrow of his brow as he concentrates on the task at hand.

Jared has the sudden panicked feeling that he’d taken everything about Jensen for granted, when he should have savored it.

This whole thing, as fake and irksome and exhausting as it was, is about to end, and with it, Jared’s partnership with Jensen.

It’s a blow Jared really hadn’t prepared to face, a need to keep everything the same as it was before, that has Jared following Jensen all the way out of Headquarters after they are dismissed. The building awning keeps them covered from the torrential and freezing rains, and Jensen is leaving. This cannot be it. This can’t be the end.

“See you later, Jared,” Jensen says around a yawn. “And good work. You’re a great agent, even if you’re a bit too goody too shoes for your own good. You wanna grab a drink? We’ve got time before the bars close.”

Rain falls, and Jared stares at the dent in Jensen’s Kevlar vest, which he’s been wearing like some kind of fucked up badge of courage, and it shouldn’t be so endearing but it is, because somewhere along this whole trip, everything about Jensen Ackles—the good, the bad, the ugly—became endearing to Jared. He nods mechanically in the response to the question, but before he can even think of what to say back by way of an au revoir, or offer Jensen a ride in his car, he’s gone and fucked everything up again.

“I have to tell you something,” Jared says, feeling suddenly nervous without really knowing why because he doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, not really.

“Can it wait until I get a beer?” Jensen asks, pulling out his phone, retrieved from his locker, and turning it on. “I really want a beer, tell you what, we can split an Uber, then I’ll—“

“Actually, it really can’t,” Jared says, knowing he sounds desperate but unable to care. “It really can’t.”

“Look man, we won, we cracked the case, and frankly my only New Year’s Resolution is to sleep so could we just—“

“It wasn’t just a cover,” Jared blurts, stupidly and unapologetically.

Jensen’s eyes flick up from his phone and he stares at Jared for a long pause, expression guarded. “What wasn’t just a cover?”

“Any of it. All of it.” Jared’s heart is pounding something furious, like they’re back in Stephen’s basement and he’s got a gun held to his head and he can’t for the life of him stop talking, the words gushing out of him like he’s the one who got shot.

“I mean, it was at first, because it was my job. Our job. But the longer it went on, the more I got to know you the more I realized that living around you, talking to you, touching you,” Jared swallows down a sudden lump in his throat. “Being in love with you. None of it was fake. None of it was cover. And none of it, not one second until the very end, even felt like a job that just had to be done. It may have started a lie, but it didn’t end up that way.”

“What are you saying.” Jensen says flatly, and Jared knows it’s a rhetorical question but he answers anyway, weeks of holding back crumbling down around him.

“I’ve never had a home,” Jared blurts, feeling silly and skittish and suddenly shier than he has his entire life. He’s an expert at getting people to like him, talking his way into anyone’s heart but all he has now is his soul laid bare for all to see. “I haven’t got much money besides what I need to get by, and apart from my dogs I don’t really have any possessions either. My entire personality is a patchwork quilt of traits that I put together to survive, to make people like me. But Jensen,” Jared pushes all his longing into that name, lets it bleed into the shape and sound of it on his lips, “I have never once lied to you, even when lying to other people was all we were doing. It wasn’t a cover. How I felt and feel about you isn’t a cover.”

Jensen doesn’t move, and in the dimness of the streetlights, over the sound of the rain, Jared can’t even hear what he’s thinking.

“You’re the most honest part of me,” Jared says, and leaves it at that.

Rain begins to pour in earnest, bordering on Cats and Dogs territory and still, Jensen doesn’t speak. When he does, Jared wishes he hadn’t.

“Look, kid, I’m flattered.” Jensen scratches at the back of his neck. “I am. But this is…I’m sorry if I led you on thinking this was something when it really wasn’t. Sometimes I get carried away with a cover when I’m on the job for too long. It happens, so, I don’t blame you or anything. But I do apologize.”

He doesn’t once make eye contact, and Jared finds himself bristling.

“You kissed me.” Jared argues, trying to keep his voice controlled in case their coworkers are within earshot. “You pushed me up against the wall and kissed me, Jensen. ‘On the job for too long’ my ass.”

“What do you want me to say, Jared?” Jensen suddenly explodes, like his words are finally gushing out too. “That I liked you? That I feel the same way? That I spent the last month and a half wishing it was all real? Well I didn’t and it isn’t.”

“You’re sure about that?” It’s said sarcastically enough but Jared feels, very suddenly, the weight of the question. It hurts bad enough to have Jensen rebuke him once. Jared’s not sure if even his stubbornness can remain resilient if he’s rebuked again.

“It was just a job, kid. I was just doing my job.”

“Shut the fuck up and stop calling me kid,” Jared spits. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Even if it was, it’s a bad idea anyway!” Jensen parries. “People like us, in our line of work, we’re safer off alone, not being attached to other people. You know that as well as I.”

“So what, Jensen?” Jared softens his voice now, barely audible above the rain, pleading. “So what? You break rules _all the time_. The whole reputation of your career is built on bending those rules until they break. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you do it. Why not this one?”

A car pulls up to the curb with an Uber sticker on the dashboard. Jensen jogs out into the rain, opening the door, only turning around once to look at Jared, an apology hidden along the twist of his mouth.

“You said it yourself,” He says over the storm, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “I don’t play well with others.”

Agent Ackles gets into the car and drives away, leaving his ex-partner standing alone in the pouring rain.

 

 

\--

 

Jensen pushes paper for as long as he can, but eventually, they send him back into the field.

He’s decked out in his Kevlar and about the crack a human sex trafficking ring when a very familiar grating voice sounds off in his ear, telling him to watch his three o’ clock, fucker, or he’s gonna get his head blown off.

“Chad?” He rasps, nearly pulling the trigger on his piece.

“The one and only, baby.” Chad grins through the comm, and Jensen—for all his idiocy—can’t believe how fucking happy he is to hear from him.

The mission wraps and by one am in the middle of the night, relatively quick and painless. The agents are debriefed and dismissed for the night and Chad makes the casual suggestion that they go to that one 24 hour Deli with the Kishka that’s to die for.

It’s a strange request, but Jensen knows that all that waits at home for him is an empty apartment and a huge ass load of guilt and pining, so he takes Chad up on it, doing his best to just go with it.

Half an hour later Jensen’s nurturing his bagel, shmear and lox like it’s his last meal on earth when Chad puts down his cup of coffee and says, “So are you going to gonna cut to the chase and ask me about JP or not, Ackles?”

Jensen doesn’t quite choke on his mouthful, but he comes pretty close.

“I wasn’t aware that was what we were here to do,” He says, eyes watering as he swallows around a massive amount of bagel.

“Oh come off it.” Chad rolls his eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? After being in your goddamn ear for that entire operation? I saved your ass from getting shot almost five times, and I know for a fact you’re never that sloppy.”

“How is he?” Jensen says flatly, giving it his best attempt at not sounding starved for information, and decidedly steering the conversation topic away from what a fucking mess he’s been.

Chad leans back in the vinyl seat, squinting at Jensen like he’s still not quite sure what to make of him.

“He’s good.” He admits after a long moment of evaluating Jensen. “Transferred into the city. Hates the subway with everything he’s got, ends up in the wrong part of town at least twice an accident but he likes living here enough.”

Jensen nods, sipping his own coffee, the ragged parts of his chest feeling the slightest bit soothed, like Chad’s words are a balm on a wound.

“He misses you,” Chad says pointedly, ripping the wound wide open again.

Jensen snorts at that one. “I doubt that.”

Chad narrows his eyes. Jared shrugs and goes back to his food.

“Can I ask you something, from one asshole to another?”

“Shoot.” Jensen says, snapping off the end of his pickle spear.

“What the fuck is your damage, Ackles?”

“You want that answer alphabetically? Or in order of—“

“You know he’s fucking nuts about you. And I only had to hear you jerking off in the shower so many times to realize that you’re just as fucking nuts about him.” Chad spits. “So what gives? What’s your damage? What the fuck are you playing at?”

Jensen sputters, the sudden intensity of Chad’s attack jarring and raw, something Jensen hadn’t been prepared for, of all things that Chad could have said. “I’m not playing, It’s not…he’s not….we’re not….”

“If you honestly are trying to tell me that after two months of sleeping in the same bed and multiple breaches of partner-partner conduct that there’s not something between you two, you’re an even bigger dick than I thought, Ackles.”

They stare each other down, but Chad doesn’t give an inch. Jensen may have the license to kill and the gun in his holster, but Chad’s not afraid of him one bit. That rattles Jensen more than it should and he considers, not the first time, that he underestimated the FBI’s most brilliant analyst _again_.

It’s that realization, that maybe, Jensen is wrong once more, that causes the energy to drain entirely from his frame. He drops his head, scrubbing a hand over his face and letting the exhaustion of the last month—the lonely return to New York, the even lonelier return to an empty home and empty bed—bleed from his skin like he’d been pinching the stitches together with his fingers.

“I…I don’t trust people easily. It’s not something I do well. Being close to people, Jared especially, is hard, because it’s new, and it’s scary.”

Scary didn’t even begin to cover it. Jensen can’t remember feeling as afraid as he did in the scant few moments where he thought Jared might be dead, as helpless as he did watching Jared getting smacked around in front of him, and being unable to do anything about it.

There are no illusions about the fact that Jensen wants Jared more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his life, but that comes with the notion, and the terrible, terrible fear, of losing Jared. Jensen’s not sure he could ever survive that, isn’t sure how anyone who’s loved Jared ever could. It’d be like snatching the sun right out of the sky. It scared Jensen, and in the end it was the main reason he left.

“Dude, you don’t think Jared is scared shitless too? He put his neck on the line for you, which I’ve never seen him do for _anyone_. Jared’s anything if not an ambitious career-oriented fucker, but he was willing to toss all precaution and fear of rejection to the wind for _you_ , you piece of shit, and how did you repay him?”

“I left him stranded in the rain,” Jensen groans, slamming his head on the table. “Literally.”

Chad nods. “That you did. So, now that you’ve realized your massive, colossal, Herculean mistake, what are you going to do about it?”

“Who says I _can_ do anything? You heard what I did to him, Chad, he probably hates me.”

“If we were talking to any less forgiving, less compassionate, less stupidly romantic person than my moron of a best friend, I’d agree with you.” Chad nods. “But we are talking about that moron specifically. So, odds are he’s just as sad and pathetic and ass-over-heels as you are.”

The bitter cold of New York settles in a fine sheet of snow on the street outside, and Jensen stares outside, knowing that somewhere in this city of eight million people is one person, just one, that Jensen may or may not want to spend the rest of his life with. One person, that Jensen has royally fucked things up with.

Jensen looks back at Chad, smiling suspiciously. “When did you get so wise?”

“Bitch, I am a 24/7 wisdom machine. World experience and close contact with a lot of drugs in college has led me to believe anything is possible. And if a Harvard drop-out like me can get recruited and become the best goddamn analyst in the world, then I think a loner robo-cop like yourself can find love.”

“Who said anything about love?” Jensen raises an eyebrow.

Chad doesn’t answer that, just slaps a small slip of paper across the table near Jensen’s fist, and a twenty for the waitress, standing and heading for the door to the deli.

He turns back, just to shout, “You can thank me in your wedding toasts to each other. Or name one of your kids Chad Jr. What the fuck ever. But whenever you get your senses together and go busting down his door with roses and a bucket of lube, you tell him Chad Michael Murray sent you.”

The bells on the Deli door jangle as it swings shut behind Chad, and Jensen looks back down at the piece of paper he’s now snatched up.

It takes maybe ten seconds to commit the address on the paper to memory, but Jensen keeps it gently folded in his jeans pocket the entre way home, just in case.

 

\--

 

Jared can’t help it. He mopes a bit, he wallows a lot.

True to Director Morgan’s word, the transfer request goes through solidly, and Jared finds his entire life packed away in boxes and moved across the country within a week of them wrapping up the Green Gang case. He hops into an FBI car and drives all the way from LA to New York City with Harley and Sadie in the back seat.

In a fit of masochism, he plays all his Christmas song albums on repeat for the entire forty hour drive, and tries miserably not to think of Jensen.

The Bureau sets him up in a dingy but well made over flat in the smack dab center of Chinatown. They haven’t put him on a new case yet- he’s still going through Psych Evaluations to make sure he’s mentally fit to carry a gun once more, so most of the last month has been spent indulging in extremely unhealthy but extremely delicious Chinese takeout, and repeat viewings of his favorite romantic comedies.

New York, as bustling of a city as it is, is surprisingly lonely when you haven’t got someone to share it with. Especially during the Holidays.

Normally Jared would consider the Holidays over by the end of January, but February rolls around with parades and festivals ringing in the Chinese New Year, and despite the general gaiety outside (not to mention plenty of illegal fireworks), Jared just can’t get into the spirit.

A firecracker goes off a few blocks away and Sadie mournfully howls at the sound.

“Me too,” Jared says automatically, because he is lonely as fuck and nothing feels more relatable than that sad, sad sound. That, and watching Bridget Jones royally fuck up her entire love life because she is incapable of withholding her verbal vomit. He relates to that as well.

He’s halfway through a box of Beef Lo Mein and watching Colin Firth telling Renee Zellweger his true feelings, pointedly ignoring the sounds of cheers and fireworks outside. The Holidays can honestly go fuck themselves.

" _I like you, very much.”_

_“Ah, apart from the smoking and the drinking, the vulgar mother and... ah, the verbal diarrhea.”_

_“No, I like you very much. Just as you are.”_

“You are one lucky bitch, Bridget Jones,” Jared mutters around a mouthful of food.

He’s just begun to consider going to bed to wallow some more before the movie gets particularly happy, resulting in him feeling even worse, when the doorbell rings. Sadie and Harley leap up, both of them barking.

“No thank you!” Jared shouts from the sofa. “I’m not interested in buying fireworks!”

A pause. The doorbell rings again.

“Did you not see the sign? No solicitors!”

Another ring. And then another. The dogs begin to go a bit frantic, scratching at the door and whining with excitement.

“Jesus Christ.” Jared groans, and leaps off the couch, prepared to give whoever it is on the other side of the door a piece of his damn mind. “Back, get back guys, Sadie, _back_.”

He swings the door open, and his jaw drops.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He whispers, as the dogs rush forward with wagging tails.

Jensen is a mess. His hair is flaked with snow, in fact, there’s snow all over him, and he’s shivering, teeth chattering, and he’s clutching a tiny piece of paper in his hand and he looks like a fucking mad man, but he’s there, breath coming in short bursts of fog in the cold air.

“I couldn’t get a cab,” Jensen explains hoarsely. “So I ran.”

“From where?” Jared snaps, springing to life as he realizes how very blue Jensen’s lips look. It is _freezing_ outside, so Jared yanks him in, slamming the door, and immediately sets to brushing the snow off of Jensen’s shoulders, pretending like this isn’t going to hurt later, once Jensen has left again. Because that’s what people like Jensen Ackles do.

“I don’t even know,” Jensen gasps, not balking at Jared’s fussing as much as he is simply reacting to it, which is odd, but Jared is too stunned to consider it. “I was at a Laundromat, doing my darks and whites together, same as usual, and I kept…I kept turning around waiting for you to scold me for not separating them. So I thought ‘Fuck Laundry’ and went to the market to get some food. But the whole time, I kept thinking ‘Where is the organic aisle? How do I get some organic?’ I couldn’t even go home to sleep it off because I can’t even sleep in my own goddamn bed by myself anymore! And then at some point between the market and the Laundromat and my apartment, I just started running. Couldn’t get a cab, so I just started running. And I ended up here.”

He looks just as surprised by it as Jared feels.

Around them, both the dogs are sitting still, uncharacteristically calm and obedient for meeting a total stranger. But their usual wary behavior is nowhere to be seen for as Jensen’s finished speaking he leans over a bit to scratch behind their ears, which seems to be a decent enough greeting, for they trot back to the couch, satisfied. Jared stares at the exchange and then turns back to Jensen, not quite sure what just happened.

“But why are you _here_?” He asks. “If you wanted to know where the organic market place is, you could have just--

“I lied, Jared. I lied about all of it, that night after we closed the case. I lied and you were right and you called my bluff and still I lied, but you were right. About all of it. It wasn’t a cover for me then either. Not then. Not now.”

“What, so you came here because you were lonely and thought I’d be an easy lay?” Jared says testily, crossing his arms over his chest, almost dizzy with how hard he wants to give in and believe Jensen. “What about being better off alone? What changed?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jensen says. “That’s the point. I’ve felt this way from the start.”

“Forgive me if I’m having a hard time believing you,” Jared responds sarcastically.

“Here then, why don’t I present you with the evidence, and let you _deduce_ the facts,” Jensen says, and then he’s backing Jared straight against the front door till Jared’s back hits wood, mimicking the same way he’d done it in a large house some thousands of miles away. And Jared knows in that moment that Jensen’s right. Nothing has changed. Locations and technicalities, job requirements and such, but they are still the same people, and Jared still wants Jensen just as badly as he did before, if not more.

Nothing changed. They’re just done trying to fake it.

“I’m in.” Jensen blurts, clenching his jaw against chattering teeth. “What you said on New Year’s Eve; the dogs, the shitty apartment, the crappy box spring, stupid ass ugly sweater Christmas parties. I want it, I want all of it, and I want you to be the fucking centerpiece in the midst of it. Jesus Christ,” he ducks his head and looks up once more, voice intimate, eyes achingly bright, “I’m all in, one hundred percent, take me or leave me, I don’t care how many times you need me to say it to believe it, Jared, I’ll say it again and I’ll—“

“Shut up,” Jared says, and kisses Jensen something fierce.

It is, without pretense or charm, the best kiss Jared’s ever had in his entire life, real or not real. He arches into it, pressing his body to Jensen’s till the melting snow drips onto his skin. Jensen gives as good as he gets, mouth warm and insistent, arms caging Jared in, as if there was anyplace else he’d rather be.

“I can’t believe I fell for it, you asshole.” Jared gasps into Jensen’s mouth, snaking his arms underneath Jensen’s coat and fisting in the material of his undershirt. “This whole month I’ve been _pining_ because I thought you _hated_ me.”

Jensen just hums, kissing around the corner of Jared’s mouth, his jaw, the sensitive spot behind his ear, making Jared gasp, struggling for coherency.

“This whole time.” He just keeps mumbling in wonder. “This whole time you were—“

“Drinking away my sorrows and doing anything to keep pre-occupied.” Jensen whispers, hot and wet, against Jared’s collarbone, before sucking on the skin there with a pressure that makes Jared keen high in his throat.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Jared can’t stop rambling, can’t believe he’s here, that this is happening, that he gets to have this. “I just figured that you were done and moving on with your life, that you’d soon forget all about the partner who went berserk on you after a couple of kisses.”

“That’s really what you thought?” Jensen pulls back, the picture of sin with mussed hair and flushed lips.

Jared just nods, because it was true. It’s the single darkest part of himself, feeling that the real him will never be enough to keep people wanting. It’s insecure and fourteen-year-old-girl as hell but it’s there and Jared feels it in moments like this, when he wants more than he can have, more than he thinks he deserves.

Jensen just slowly shakes his head, that same shocked expression, as if he’s been shot again.

“You fucking idiot,” He whispers, leaning up and pressing their bodies even closer than before. “I’m fucking _gone_ for you.”

A strangled laugh of relief bursts forth from Jared’s mouth, and then they’re kissing again.

The freedom that comes with finally getting the truth out of Jensen, the god’s honest truth, sends his heart soaring, swelling to full capacity, fat with happiness and the promise of what’s to come. It’s quickly replaced, though, by the growing awareness of Jensen’s erection through his jeans, not to mention his own.

“Get out of these clothes. Out. _Out_.” Jared laughs as Jensen ignores him and starts nipping at his jaw again. “Out before you freeze to death. And you say I’m the fucking idiot; what could even possess you to run in the freezing cold? Don’t answer that. Just take off your clothes, idiot.”

Jensen laughs, and the sound of it melts something that Jared didn’t even know had been hard within him, trying not to look so enamored as Jensen sheds his outer layers, which appear to be an endless barrage of sweaters and jackets that has no end.

When he’s down to his t-shirt and slightly snow damp jeans, Jensen goes to kiss Jared again but Jared practically steers him towards the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot so the dogs won’t come in and shoving Jensen onto the bed with all his might.

“Rule Number One,” Jared says matter of factly, shucking his shirt so he’s bare chested, ignoring the way his heart pounds when Jensen’s eyes go dark, hungry, pointedly keeping his distance, “Your C.D.s will not mix with mine, your work files will not mix with mine. In fact, your general preference for all things cluttered and untidy will not mix with mine.”

Lips quirking, Jensen gets with the game, and reaches back to lift his t-shirt over his head and _fuck_ , Jared’s seen Jensen shirtless a hundred times over for several months straight but suddenly, the explicit permission to look his fill means all the more, and Jensen’s no longer the only one looking hungry.

“Fair enough,” Jensen continues conversationally. “Rule Number Two. You will never cook. Ever. If it’s a special occasion, like my birthday, you will do takeout, or microwaveable meals only. But apart from occasions when I ask for help, stay out of the kitchen.”

“Rule Three.” Jared shucks his pajamas and his boxers, kicking the across the room. “I will do the grocery shopping. And the laundry. And answering the door and phone to deal with strangers.”

“Rule Four,” Jensen’s pants and underwear join Jared’s on the floor as he talks, “We never throw another fucking Christmas party. Never fucking again.”

“We’re gonna re-visit that one. How about birthday parties?” Jared gropes his side table drawer for condoms and lube.

“Small ones, no ragers. Engagement parties?”

Jared stills, suppressing a smile so hard it hurts. “Up for negotiation. Put a pin in that for later.”

“Right.”

“And Rule Number Five.” Jared turns, sitting on the bed, stark naked. Jensen is naked too. They’re both naked, and what feels like such a revelatory acknowledgement of intimacy really just feels like something they’ve done a million times before, each time better than the last. “We never lie to each other. We never pretend. We are who we are, no apologies. We’re partners, first and foremost.”

Jensen smiles slow. “Sounds good to me.”

There’s a moment when they sit kneeling on the bed, grinning at each other like virginal teenagers, and then Jensen leans forward, cupping Jared’s face and pulling him down into a long, heady kiss.

Despite the way they’re comfortable with their naked bodies, putting those bodies so close together is another thing entirely. Even in the showers together they’d never done more than accidentally brush shoulders while avoiding eye contact, but the removal of boundaries and rules sends a thrill through Jared like he’s never know. Jensen tentatively licks into Jared’s mouth, seeking permission, and Jared gives it in spades.

Fireworks set off in whistles and pop outside, the light of them seeping through the slats of the window blinds in hues of gold and red. Jensen’s hands were cold at the start of this whole thing but somewhere in-between the living room and here they’ve warmed a small fraction, and now ghost along Jared’s ribs and hips, gentle and lingering, raising goose bumps along his skin, causing his nipples to stiffen as their chests brush. Jared sighs into Jensen’s mouth, wrapping his arms and stroking at the wings of Jensen’s shoulder blades, pulling him down on top of him.

They’re going to fuck at some point, Jared knows it, but he knows that lies somewhere in the farther future, because there’s no way he’s going to last long enough to get Jensen’s dick in him at this point, not when Jensen begins grinding their cocks together, hot and slow, mouthing once more at Jared’s neck and collarbones. He’s leaving bruises, just like last time, little love bites that will purple up and remind Jared of this moment every time he sees himself in the mirror. It’s juvenile and possessive and Jared’s going to be wearing scarves for days after the fact, and he fucking loves every bit of it.

“You’ll take the dogs walking tomorrow,” Jared gasps, fisting hand in Jensen’s hair and arching against the friction, the wet drag of his cock against Jensen. “You need to bond with them.”

“My credit score is really fucking low. My financial assets as a whole are generally a mess.” Jensen groans, cutting off the sound by sucking a mark beneath Jared’s jaw.

“I’m technically an Unorthodox Jew.” Jared screws his eyes tight shut, gasping, hips pumping of their own accord, unable to look down at where their bodies are grinding together for fear of coming to soon. “My mom’s side, Polish Jews. Had my Bar Mitzvah and everything.”

“I don’t have an actual driving license.” Jensen grips Jared’s hips, thumbs slotting right into the groove of his hipbones, brushing the line of his happy trail, “Lived in Staten Island my whole life. Never needed one.”

They do this for a while, a slow and steady roll of their hips together, cocks flushed and leaking pre-come on their stomachs, the smell of their mingled sweat and shared breaths making the air seem hazy, swapping facts about each other like they’re on some kind of first date. It’s silly, and they keep taking pauses to laugh, or delve into details for background information, but mostly it’s sexy, the gradual build to something bigger, both emotionally and physically.

Eventually, though, somewhere around Jensen revealing that he secretly loves playing guitar and singing, Jared starts to come apart, a sweaty and breathy mess under Jensen’s mouth, cock diamond hard, heart thundering away in his chest, eyes still screwed tight shut against an orgasm that’s coming on too quickly to properly brace for.

“That’s it,” Jensen says, voice run ragged with sex and heat, the sound of it sending ripples of pleasure down Jared’s skin. “That’s it, Jared. C’mon, you’re doing so good. That’s it. Come for me.”

Jensen’s cock brushes over the wet tip of Jared’s just one more time, and Jared gasps, spine bowing up as his hips rise off the bed, Jensen’s grip tightening on them as he does so. His eyes water as he chokes on the rush of orgasm as it slams into him, recovering after the initial first wave only to crush his mouth to Jensen’s as Jensen grabs his cock and strokes it through the aftershocks, like he’s got all the time in the world.

He doesn’t though, in the end. Jared’s just barely regained enough brain power to open his eyes again when he feels Jensen’s cock spilling between them, warm and wet in a way that’s probably going to be gross in a few minute’s time, but for now it’s just plain hot, watching Jensen gasp and quake through the sensation, body bucking and rolling of its own accord as Jared kisses him down from the wave of his orgasm.

They lay there for a minute, a bit stunned in their post-coital euphoria.

“I can’t believe how awesome we are at sex.” Jensen says slowly, catching his breath and smiling stupidly. “Like, we are really fucking awesome at sex. And we haven’t even technically _had_ sex.”

“If there were orgasms, it was sex.” Jared corrects, just to be annoying, but he’s grinning something stupid too, thinking of the abandoned condoms and lube at the end of the bed and wondering if and when he should bring those to attention.

He decides against it though, and settles for snatching an abandoned shirt off the floor to wipe them clean, before wrapping his limbs around Jensen as far as they go. He can save the condoms and lube for a later date; they’ve got time, and that’s maybe the greatest part of it all.

 

\--

 

“I forgot to tell you--” Jensen says some considerable time later, kissing his way down the moles on Jared’s back, just because he can.

“Forgot to tell me…” Jared starts the thought again, after Jensen spends too long a moment lavishing attention on his left shoulder blade.

Jensen raises his head, expression somber, “We have to name one of our kids after Chad.”

“ _What_.”

“Yeah, I sort of ran into him last week,” Jensen says sheepishly, propping his chin up on Jared’s shoulder, pressing a few kisses into the skin there, before continuing, “Actually, uh, he’s the one who told me where to find you, he kind of brought me to my senses, like, enough to actually do something about it. So by way of thanks, he wants either a shout out in our wedding toasts or to be the namesake of our firstborn child, uh, first adopted child, I guess. First adopted. Now I know it sounds like a stretch, but I don’t think I’m physically capable of saying a single nice thing about Chad, let alone in front of all our colleagues and friends, so, Chad Junior it is.”

It’s a lot to take in, the casual use of words like ‘wedding toasts’ and ‘child’, the promise of something more than Jared could ever have hoped for, all wrapped up in this ridiculous anecdote, capped off with the imagery of the implied horror story that would be Uncle Chad as a whole.

Jared laughs so hard he cries, so loud the dogs take up howling outside the bedroom door to accompany the sound, and so long that Jensen takes it upon himself to kiss him quiet.

And just like that, the tiny bedroom is filled with a silence that is softer than the snowfall on the stoop, stretching out to every corner of Jared’s home— _their_ home, because starting tomorrow Jensen’s socks will join Jared’s in the dresser-drawer, his hair products will mix with Jared’s in the cramped shower, and all his sweaters will be lying around the house for Jared to steal and wear—with something that feels a whole lot like sunshine, smack dab in the middle of a cold winter’s night.

 

Epilogue

“Did you take the mini-quiches out of the oven?” Jensen shouts up the stairs, panicked as he shoves more logs into the fireplace.

“We had mini-quiches in the oven?” Jared shouts back, and Jensen sprints back to the kitchen, visions of black and burnt quiches swimming before him as he swings open the door, slips on an oven mitt and pulls out the entire batch, slightly overcooked from the looks of it, but not enough that they’ll taste any different, just crunchier. He swears in relief and places them all onto the Hors-d'oeuvres tray.

He stands for a moment, surveying the whole scene before them that Jared had asked—nay, _begged_ —to put together for the party, from the massive Christmas tree in the living room, the mountains of presents, to the decorations and the plates and plates of food and the Mariah Carey Christmas music playing tastefully in the background. There’s no way that all the people they’ve invited to this party are going to fit comfortably into their small New York City brownstone, but Jared’s optimistic and Jensen finds more and more often that there’s no use arguing anyhow when Jared wants something badly enough.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Jensen says, stripping off his apron and t-shirt. “Altering Rule Number Four is actually the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. The party starts in five minutes and I haven’t sat down since five this morning. I’m going to _die_.”

“Something tells me you’ve faced worse,” Jared hums from the bathroom. “Don’t worry about going through your closet, I’ve got an outfit picked out for you on the bed.”

“I can pick my own clothes.” Jensen snaps, but he’s lifting up the pine green sweater to go over the dress shirt beneath it from his pillow, very obviously new but also very strategically missing the price tag. “You didn’t have to buy me a new Christmas sweater.”

“You act like someone was holding a gun to my head,” Jared says wryly, exiting the bathroom to head down the stairs before turning around with a salacious smile. “Don’t worry though; it’s not your real Christmas present. You get your real present tomorrow, after everybody’s gone and it’s just you and me.”

Jared blows a kiss and winks, and Jensen rolls his eyes, but changes just the same, smiling at the whole look of the outfit. He’ll never admit it, but Jared has good taste in clothes, as he does with everything. The dark jeans go kind of spectacularly with his Grandpa’s old cowboy boots, which appear to be freshly polished.

He splashes some water on his face, figuring there’s not much he can do about the five o’ clock shadow now, and heads down the stairs after Jared, slinging his tie around his neck.

Jared’s re-organizing the presents under the tree, muttering to himself when Jensen walks in, still struggling with his tie. The room smells of cinnamon spice, and everything is decked out to perfection, color coordinated and all. As it damn well should be; they’ve been planning this for weeks.

“Hayley and Chris should be here in a few minutes with the kids,” Jared says, glancing at a text on his phone. “I can’t believe we’ve got almost the entire neighborhood flying out to see us. Rich people are unreal.”

“Better them then everyone from work,” Jensen says evenly, his tired fingers fumbling with the knot after hours of whipping and kneading various foods for the party. Jared had tried to help too on several occasions, until one particular batch of buttered rum caught fire.

Jared was hence forth banned from the kitchen, sent to work on decorating instead. “I can’t believe we invited Chad to this party. A party that your old boss and our current boss is going to be at. It’s going to be a disaster.”

“I’ll keep Chad away from the spiked eggnog if you promise to introduce Jeff to that girl I invited from HR. Hilarie, her name is. I think he’ll like her. Here,” Jared walks over to where Jensen is still struggling with his tie, “Let me.”

Jensen drops his hands and stands still in the warm glow of Christmas lights and the crackling fireplace, allowing Jared to take the lead with deft hands.

“This feels like a bit of a déjà vu,” He says and they smile softly at each other for a moment, and then Jared re-focuses, blushing slightly at the parallel to the first time they did this.

“You know,” Jensen tips his chin slightly to look up at Jared. “Playing matchmaker for Hilarie and Jeff…Pairing people up together just because you think they’ll like each other is a bold move. Doesn’t always pan out the way you want.”

“Worked alright for us.” Jared shrugs, finishing the knot on the tie and now fussing at Jensen’s sleeves, rolling the cuffs up to the elbow and tucking the sweater in the fold.

“Yeah,” Jensen says, thinking fondly of the last five years of this: of grocery shopping at odd hours in the night because their work schedules are fucked and hardly ever congruent. Of curling up on their occasional nights off with nothing but pizza, old movies and a six pack. Of him stumbling into bed when Jared is asleep, or vice versa, and not really having the energy for much else apart from pulling him close and keeping him there. Of quick kisses that taste like morning coffee, which usually turn into quick fucks on the kitchen counter. Of fights and bickering and the silences that come after, of the patient truces that heal the wounds. Of slow, lazy sex on the occasional Sunday morning where’s there’s nowhere else to be but here. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

 

 

It is dizzying as much as it is humbling, the idea that Jensen could possibly have done anything to deserve all this.

“Is that mistletoe I see?” Jared asks in an innocent voice, very obviously trying to hold back a smile and sure enough, as Jensen looks up, it’s right there, dangling over their heads like some kind of threatening mop of weeds.

“Clever.” Jensen says sarcastically, wrapping his arms around Jared’s waist and pulling him in so they’re nose to nose. “But, _sugarplum_ , you know you didn’t have to go to all that trouble just to kiss me. All you had to do was ask.”

Jared smiles full on now, tugging Jensen in by his tie but Jensen beats him to it, lips kissing at his teeth before Jared even has a chance to close his mouth.

“Watch it, there.” Jared murmurs into his mouth a few minutes later, as Jensen reaches down to grab at his ass. “There will be children here in just a few minutes.”

“We could always just go back upstairs and cancel this whole thing,” Jensen says suggestively, nuzzling at Jared’s ear and Jared shudders, before swatting at Jensen’s hands and stepping back.

“Clever,” Jared repeats back. “But it’s going to take more than that to stop me.”

The doorbell rings, and Jared straightens his sweater back into place, as Jensen fixes his hair again. They can make out the silhouettes of Chris and Hayley through the door, as well as the triplets on the porch, all three fussing with their dresses and mittens through the panes of glass.

“You ready to brave the storm?” Jared says, quirking an eyebrow slipping his arm around Jensen’s waist.

“Is it weird of me to say that I’m actually looking forward to this?” Jensen responds, because he is.

“I don’t believe it.” Jared feigns shock, but there’s no stopping his smile, small and secret and just for Jensen. “A Real Christmas Miracle.”

The door swings open to a loud chorus of “Merry Christmas!” and Jensen thinks to himself that maybe that Jimmy Stewart flick had the right idea after all, because it’s a helluva wonderful life.

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> dimpleforyourthoughts: [tumblr](http://dimpleforyourthoughts.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/dimpled_trash)  
> / [ko-fi account](http://ko-fi.com/A33648QC)  
> 


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